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A Book of Dakota Rhymes 



A Book 



of 



Dakota Rhymes 



Collected and Arranged 

BY 

B. W. Burleigh 

AND 

G. G. Wenzlaff 



'» 



CHICAGO 

PRIVATELY PRINTED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF 

HERBERT S. STONE fir COMPANY 

MDCCCxqvni 



COPYRIGHT I»gb 
B. W. BURLEIGH 

AND 
G. G. WENZLAFF 



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£S RECEIVED. 






to 

Our Alma Mater 

Yankton College 

This Volume 

IS 

Affectionately Inscribed 



Contents 



Anna E. Bagstad 

IVhat is Life ? 
A Fragment . 



12 

36 



Mortimer C. Brown 

April .... 

May .... 

Farmin* in Dakota 

Sylvan Lake 

Childhood . . . . 

Beautiful Big Stone 

Harvest Time 

In October 

When the Snow is on the Prairie 

B. W. Burleigh 



Waiting .... 


10 


Grandma .... 


. 25 


Back on the Farm Again . 


34 


Little Red Rose .... 


. 54 


Laddie .... 


61 


Ole Uncle Eph 


. 83 


My Soldier Boy 


87 


The Russian Thistle . 


. 107 


The Pine Tree 


115 


Evening .... 


. 121 



20 

33 

47 

64 

74 

96 

loi 

108 

116 



CONTENTS 



Will P. Chamberlain 



Human ity and the Sea 

Iron Nation 

An Ideal 

The Old Sod Shanty , 

The Rapids . 

Beside the Sioux 



15 

53 
7^ 
80 
92 
99 



Sam T. Clover 



To Let 

A South Sea Absurdity 

Evening in Dakota 

Decoration Day on the Little Big Horn 

Sublimity .... 

The Golden IVest 

O Winding Sioux^ . . . 

Content .... 

Fast Asleep .... 



14 
31 
38 

55 
66 
78 
82 

9^ 

102 



Will Dillman 



The Fair Islands 
Love Song 
The Moods , 
The Watchers . 
Disappointment 
The Reapers 
Rain in Harvest 
Henry 



I 
18 
60 
62 
86 
98 
103 
III 



Fannie E. Knapp 



Sowing and Reaping 
The Gem of the Prairie 
My Home 
The Lights Beyond 



16 

44 
89 
114 



CONTENTS 



Charles Bracy Lawton 

The Forgotten Nest 
Dear Little Face 
Celia .... 
Sweet Death 



6 

39 
68 

97 



W. J. McMuRTRY 

Morning 
Evening . 
Liberty 



DoANE Robinson 

About Sunrise 

Plowin^ .... 

Consistency . 

Morning in Galilee 

One of the Palls 

Herding 

Mister Tapley 

The Coteaus of Dakota 

Helpin^ Hay . 

Flora M. Thornton Swift 

Life's Best Gift 
The Difference . 
Two Books . 

May Phillips Tatro 

Spring Upon the Prairie . 

April .... 

The Woodland Path 

June .... 

My Wild Rose Garden 

Not Yet, Not Yet 

October 

Indian Summer 



40 
42 
50 



7 

21 

24 

58 
70 
77 
Si 
90 
94 



4 

29 

119 



2 

n 

27 

(>i 

73 
93 

jo6 
109 



CONTENTS 



Fraxk Hermon Vi'z: TV. : ?.7h 



PAGE 



Our Prairie FUncers , , . . ii 

Mignon, ....... jo 

Tk^Ecko . . . 4s 

You Pretty Fisher Maid^m . . . . 6$ 

G- G. WnxzLAJj 

In the spring -TiTfte • . . . 5 
TheBUndPici' .46 

TkeMeadtnt-L^z h .... 7^ 

SolUude ^5 

ThtOtaplet ...... 103 

Autumn Revery ..... //j 

Wtnier FJamers ., ... 118 

The Pour Bards ..... /^^ 



PREFACE 

The "Rhymes" comprising this little book 
have been gleaned from the farms and towns 
of South Dakota. New as is this state, there 
is a higher life in the breasts of even those who, 
far 'removed from the great centres of culture 
and the blessings of an older and more highly- 
developed region, brave the hardships of pio- 
neer life. These verses are an expression of 
that higher life that feels something deeper in 
nature and in the simple and often hard rela- 
tions and conditions of western life. In making 
this collection — which has been possible only 
with the generous co-operation of the con- 
tributors — and sending it out in book-form, the 
compilers feel that they are helping to preserve 
and make known, in a greater measure, a few 
samples of the literary fruit of this common- 
wealth. 

In all cases but one we have secured the 
verses for this book directly from the authors. 
Since, however, nearly all of the selections 
had previously appeared in print, we would 
make additional acknowledgment to periodi- 
cals that have given us permission to use them 
either directly or through the authors, and 
especially to "The Century Magazine," "The 
Progi'ess," "The Midland Monthly," "Arthur's 



PREFACE 

New Home Magazine," "Ave Maria," and 
"Four O'clock." 

So far as we are aware there has been no 
previous attempt to make a collection that 
may fairly be called "A Book of Dakota 
Rh\Tnes." If any line written herein shall 
add one tint more of color to the long summer 
afternoon, or one ray of warmth and cheer to 
the long winter evening, the compilers of this 
book will feel amply justified in sending it 
forth. 

B. W. BURLEIGH 
G. G. WEXZLAFF 
Yankton, S. Dak., June, 1S9S. 



A Book of Dakota Rhymes 



THE FAIR ISLANDS 

I think there be fair islands in the seas. 
'Round their bright shores the emerald ocean 

flows, 
And blushing lovers walk and woo in those. 

I think there be unstoried Strophades ; 

And from their sunny sands no sailor flees, 
For there no harpies are, and there the rose 
Grows redder, and the lily whiter blows. 

And often have I yearned to dwell in these. 

But were I there, methinks, in little time, 
As I should wander by the silver strand, 
My heart would languish with a deeper pain, 

A fiercer longing for that far-off clime, 

Where cattle strong do roam the prairie land, 
And waves the wheat o'er all the golden plain. 

Will Dillman 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

SPRING UPON THE PRAIRIE 

A faint green tinging all the billowy plain, 
Far-reaching space filled in with glad refrain 
Of meadow-lark, and twittering blackbird notes, 
And low love chirrups ^ from the swallows' 

throats — 
Brown swallows that with swiftly dipping flight 
Sweep close to earth, then seeking higher 

light, 
With trembling \s4ngs that beat the scented air, 
Then darting back with quivering pinions 

where 
Beneath the eaves are nests secure and high, 
Vrherein the mother chirps a lullab}-. 

Some bending willows in a marshy spot 

Show dimly green their new-bom leaves half 

shot [brush, 

With dull brown coloring, traced by Autumn's 
While at their feet grow blue flags rank and 

lush; 
Shy, sweet-faced daisies peep from dew-wet 

spots — 
Bright yellow blossoms shine like golden dots 
Within a setting of soft buffalo grass; 
A wild rose bramble in a tangled mass 
Just putting forth its leaves ; while everywhere 
The dainty \4olets, April's children fair, 
Lift up their faces toned in lightsome tints ; 
And as our feet press down the pungent mints 
That grow along the winding river's brink — 
Their odorous breaths sweep outward, — rise and 

sink 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Upon the air, — and where the shallows lie 
The kildee wades and sounds his spring-time 
cry. 

A striped gopher poses still and straight, 

Then, with defiant whistle, seeks his mate. 

A gleam of scarlet as a blackbird tilts 

Upon a willow, and pipes forth a lilt 

Of rippling song from out his joyous heart. 

So much of 'wakening nature forms a part 

Of our glad prairie spring-time, fresh and 

sweet — 
With eager rapture we its coming greet. 

May Phillips Tatro 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



LIFE S BEST GIFT 

On the shore of the great unknown, 
All tremblingly, I stood alone. 
Waiting till Death should kindly come 
To me, and claim me as his own. 

But Death, unkind as Life, passed by, 
Unheeding my despairing cr\-; 
I could not lay my burden down ; 
Alas, for me ! I could not die. 

Then in my anguish, did I call, 
"O Life! Since Death has taken all, 
And left me in my bitter woe, 
On me, I pray, let one gift fall.'* 

And Life smiled back, "Not yet the end; 
O patience, heart, and I will send 
My first, most precious gift to thee." 
The treasure came ; it was a friend. 

Flora M. Thorn-ton Swift 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



IN THE SPRING-TIME 

One name — when spring winds whisper sof tly- 
I hear amidst the green boughs* leaves ; 

The creek's low song, the wild dove's crooning- 
That name to me all nature breathes. 

One face I see in every blossom, 
That meekly hides within the grass; 

The evening clouds in hues of sunset 
Reflect that face before they pass. 

One dream so vague, so dreamy vivid, 

Like music of a sylvan stream. 
Like fragrance from the prairie roses — 

My loved one is my constant dream. 

G. G. Wenzlaff 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE FORGOTTEN NEST 

You who but yesterday, with untried wing, 
A fledgling, left your home, the sheltered nest, 
And pause to-night beneath strange skies to rest, 
There with the morning sun to wake and sing : 
Have you no hint of memory to bring 
To you that little rounded home? Your breast 
Will be no more within its confines pressed, 
Nor will you there renew your twittering. 
But lagging feet may find an easier way 
Since you are pouring forth your happy song ; 
The dulcet strains within your limpid lay 
May lift some tender heart above the throng. 
So let me to that home my homage pay. 
In which your wings for feathered flight grew 
Strong. 

Charles Bracy Lawton 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

ABOUT SUNRISE 

The dew were like the seeds of glory, 

The apple-leaves were glos'trin' waxed and 

green, 
The crickets grindin* out their squeaky story, 
The roses blowin' red's you ever seen. 
A redbreast were a-whistlin* 
Down where the corn were glistenin'. 

The jays were jabb'rin' over in the russet trees, 

The saucy cats kept up their jawin* shrill, 

A hummin'-bird was flick'rin' round amongst 

the honey-bees, 
And prairie-hens acrost the lot were rumblin' 
like the mill. 

Up in the apples* tallest peak. 
All buttoned up, and trim and sleek. 
And dandy as two figh tin '-cocks. 
There sot a pair of singin' mocks. 

There's them thet thinks they never heard 
Good music, 'ceptin' mockin'-bird 
Performances, in wanin' spring; 
I ain't the one what's got a word 
Ag'in* it, if you care to hear them sing. 
A tinklin' 

Of silver bells, 
Thet kind of tells 
The play's begun. 
A little din 
Of sweetness first, before you get the run. 
Then pretty pictures floats 
Up from their throats, 

7 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Along with one 
Of them old tunes so sweet 
It seems as good to eat 
As meller fruit. 
And now a shoot 

'Way up so high 
You almost touch the sky. 
A suddent turn thet makes you seem 
A-loafin' in a dream, 
Where you can see 
The noddin' tree 
Laze in its own 
Cool shadders, thrown 
To kiver lovers* bowers, 
*Midst blushin' flowers 
By flirtin* breezes blown, 
Thet give a hint 
Of bubblin* mint. 
Now rollin* in the grinnin' grass, 

You feel the honeyed air 
Thet over bloomin' orchards pass 
A-playin' in your hair ; 

A snoozin' so, 
The wind begins to blow 
As awkerdly as if there's room 
To take and swing a cyclone-broom. 
You hear the saplin's thrash. 
The fallin' timber's crash. 

The thunder's ugly growl. 
Above the blizzard's howl ; 
And while you shiver. 

Away they sliver, 
And warm and bright 
8 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

The soft sunlight 

Comes flashin' out, 

And 'fore you know 
What makes your singer go, 
You join the happy shout — 
The song without the words — 

Sung by the mockin'-birds. 
I ain't got no ear for singin', 

So I jest kep' on a-flingin* 

Clods up in the apple-tree. 

Until I couldn' nowhere see 

A bird within a mile of me. 

DoANE Robinson 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



WAITING 

Span on, and on, O broad prairie land ! 
Span on to the stars with a sweep that is grand ! 
I stand on thy shore, O waterless sea, 
Awaiting my loved one's return unto me. 

"Farewell," and "Farewell,**— then one last 

long embrace, 
Ere I saw him embark on the limitless space. 
Yet I stand and I wait by the waterless sea, 
And long for my loved one's return unto me. 

B. W. Burleigh 



lO 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



OUR PRAIRIE FLOWERS 

When he this world had fashioned well 

To be his children's home, 
The Father came with us to dwell, 

And in the floweret shone. 

His spirit sought the farthest shore, 

And left some token there 
That might to us in buds it bore 

Unfold a Father's care. 

He gave arbutus to the grove, 

The clover to the mead ; 
Where'er our wandering feet may rove 

There blooms our nature's need. 

To cheer the desert's lonely way 

The bright acacia grows. 
The lowly mosses' crimson ray 

Lights up the Alpine snows. 

But when he viewed our prairie land 
No single flower could choose, 

And so he strewed with loving hand 
His choicest seeds profuse. 

Frank Hermon Went worth 



II 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

WHAT IS LIFE 

A poet asked the question of a rose, 
As one fair day drew lingering to a close. 
Breathing the incense of her heart above 
She answered blushing: "Life — ah, life is 
love!'* 

A songbird from his deep embowered nest 
Sang to the glories of the purpling west 
A song of gladness, pure, without alloy. 
The poet heard: ''This life is only joy." 

'And what say ye?" — this to the ants that low 
Beside his feet on busy errands go. 
A thousand-voiced reply from out the soil — 
And m^Tiads caught the echo: "Life is toil." 

Into the twilight wood the poet strayed 
And found within the solitude a maid ; 
Waiting a skiff approaching o'er the stream, 
She mtu-mured: "Life — oh, happy, happy 
dream!" 

Softly the darkness settles, and on high 

Myriads of stars begem the dusky sky. 

Faint whispers breathe 'twixt heaven and earth 

and sea, 
"Life is an everlasting mystery." 

Now to the hermit's cave the wanderer hied. 
He to the question wearily replied, 
Sighing, as low his wavering taper burned : 
"Life is a school where nothing can be learned." 

12 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

The penitent — the midnight long since sped — 
Upon the wayside stones reclined his head. 
*'Howlong," he said, "how full of strife appears 
The pilgrimage through this dim vale of tears !" 

Celestial artists change from somber gray- 
To rainbow tints the curtains of the day, 
Till at God's bidding these are upward rolled 
And mortals view the morning's court of gold. 

From each unfolding bud the shadows flee ; 
Earth echoes with a living melody, 
And through the anthems of exulting birds 
There thrills a voice — the poet hears the words : 

"If even comes, O man, to find thee more 
Like to the great Ideal than before ; 
If thou art'nobler when this day is spent, 
Then hast thou lived : life is development." 

Anna E. Bagstad 



T3 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



TO LET 

A vacant heart to let ; inq-^e for the key 
Of Master Cupid, just across the way; 

Terms easy to the tenant who'll agree 
To sign a lease forever and a day. 

A cozy dwelling in a pleasant street. 

And just ad;a :e- : : : '1 C r: 5 hip road ; 

A bit old-fashion el, :.:: : :u:n^:e heat — 
Where Love may find a ver^ snug a: one. 

The agent. Cupid, will be glad to show 
The rrenises to any maid r ntiss ; 

Ke h make the price ridictilo us. . low. 
And asks as nis commission hut a kiss. 

C:v n.3.-:en, come: and in this bargain share; 

The :±T r s : e n: *: : : n r ': y your own confession ; 
Y:u h hni :he pia:e in excellent repair — 

Accept the terms and enter in possession. 

S.4^ T. Clover 



14 



A BCOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

HUMANITY AND THE SEA 

How like the sea, the wide expanse, 
That beats against a thousand strands, 
Breathing its husky monotone, 
Uplifting high its spray-wet hands, 

Is our humanity ! 
Like restless billows we raise our hearts, 
To cry throughout pain's wildest night; 
But o'er the waters of tossing years, 
There seems to break no cheering light 

On our humanity. 
We yearn for happy, distant climes. 
Where stately, green palmettoes wait, — 
But still strive on. 'Tis well, ah, well 
We yearn and strive, however late. 

For our humanity. 
While yet the voyage is before. 
With no skilled seaman near at hand 
To note the needle's turning there, 
We sail far toward the sunset land, 

From our humanity. 

But high above the flood there shines 
A golden star, to mark the track 
And shape our course. And on before 
A Pilot waits. Would we come back 

To wear humanity? 
Would we return when once He greets? 
Or murmur at the kind decree? 
At death and our lone journeying, 
When on that summer shore we 're free 

From our humanity? 
Will P. Chamberlain 

15 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



SOWING AND REAPING 

When we sow, we sow in faith, 
For the seed must buried lie 

Many days before we see 
Signs of harvest by and by. 

When we plant, we plant in faith, 
For the growth of trees is slow. 

Many summers must we wait 
For the perfect fruit to grow. 

When we pray, pray we in faith, 
As we sow and plant and trust. 

Never doubting while we wait. 
That our God is faithful, just? 

Or do we in doubt and fear 

Murmur at the long delay? 
Mourn because we have to wait? 

Cry that God has turned away? 

Say we will not sow, because 
Harvests yield not on the mom? 

Say we will not pray because 
Patient hope brings oft but scorn? 

Better both to sow and pray ; 

And in strongest faith believing. 
We shall some not distant day 

Know the blessing of receiving. 

Fannie E. Knapp 



i6 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



APRIL 

A smile, a tear, 

Sunshine an hour; 
A skurry of clouds, 

A little shower ; 
A robin's chirrup, 

A blackbird's call. 
Sunlight and shadow 

Over all. 

A violet face 

Just peeping up ; 
A dandelion, 

A buttercup ; 
A dainty green 

Flung everywhere, 
A tuft of clover 

Here and there. 

A meadow-lark's 

Sweet, soaring lay, 
Some new life showing 

Every day ; 
A whirl of wind, 

So damp and sweet 
A swish of rain — 

April complete. 

May Phillips Tatro 



17 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



LOVE SON'G 

Dearest, I had thought to bring 
Honor to yon when I came, 

Not the loud and brazen ring. 
Not the sound of stilted fame. 
But a known and honored name 

From the notes that I should sing. 

Tow'rds an end that never nears, 
I have trodden toilsome ways ; 

And at eve the rising tears, 
And at mom the longing gaze ; 
And the hours have turned to days, 

And the days are come to years. 

After bootless ioume}-ing 

I am come 3'our hand to claim. 

Nothing but m\^self I bring. 

I have sought an honored name ; 
I have sung for modest fame. 

But they would not hear me sing. 

Yet I know in your dear eyes, 

Though I come with bayless brow, 

I am welcome. Then arise ; 
Let it go, I care not how. 
Poor hearts, dearest, long ere now, 

Loved and quickened in this wise. 
iS 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Under far and bending skies 
We will journey on the same, 

Where the wood-birds sing and rise, 
Where the roses bud and flame. 
Let them keep their wealth and fame ; 

They may never know this prize. 

Will Dillman 



19 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



APRIL 

The robins have come back again, 

The meadow-larks are here, 
And bashful little wind-flowers 

In every nook appear. 
The frogs have been thawed out three times, 

They now are "in the swim," 
And wake the evening echoes 

With their old accustomed vim. 

The sun shines bright at nine o'clock, 

High winds prevail at noon, 
Then on the roof the raindrops play 

Ere night, a merry tune. 
From out the dingy last year's growth 

Young grass begins to peep, 
And soon the prairies' emerald slopes 

Will swarm with frisking sheep. 

There's health and strength and deep content 

In every breath we draw. 
Fresh life and vigor come with spring, 

For this is nature's law. 
Though ears and toes have long been cold, 

Yet now with joy we sing : 
" *Tis worth the whole of winter time 

To get a taste of spring." 

Mortimer C. Brown 



20 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

plowin' 

I ruther plow 'n anything. 

Jest give to me 

A pair o' five-year-olds 

'At's smart, 

'N' let me sling 

A steel-beam plow 'at holds 

Its edge, 'n' has good suck, 

*N' I don't want no better luck. 

It best suits me 

To git 'n airly start 

On eighty-acre bouts, 

'N' w'ile the lazy louts 

In town 

Air groomin' theirselfs down. 

To crack my whip 'n' sing: 

"Rockaby baby on the tree-top, 
When the wind blows the cradle will rock, 
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall, 
'N down will come baby, cradle, 'n' all." 

Take it October days, 
W'en corn is ripe; 
'N' sunshine, kind o' red. 
Pokes through the smoky haze ; 
'N* plover 'n* silver snipe 
Pick up the angle worms 
'At twists 'n* squirms 
Erlong the furrer's bed; 
'N* lazy cattle graze 
Erbout the stubble lot, 
Wher* little's to be got 

21 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

But frost-bit volunteer — 
I trot betwixt the tails 
With independent swing 
'N' hope 'at never fails, 
Expectin' soon to hear 
The dinner-tocsin's ring; 
'N' so I laugh 'n' sing: 

"Heigh-diddle-diddle, the cat played the 
fiddle, 
The cow jumped over the moon. 
The little dog laughed to see such sport, 
'N' the dish ran after the spoon." 

Give me a good-hung plow 

'At sets down flat, 

'N' picks right up the dirt, 

'N' turns it top-side down. 

I tell ye now, 

I'll bet a las' year's hat 

'At you can't hurt 

My feelin's no sech way. 

Jest let me plow, 

'N' turn the stubble down, 

'N* smell the rottin' dirt, 

'N' bust the gopher moun's 

On eighty-acre roun's. 

Ther' ain't no job in town 

I'd trade it fer; 

No, sir. 

Three acres ever' day 

Es 'bout the reg'lar thing ; 

'N' 'long erbout sundown 

You'll hear me laugh 'n' sing: 

22 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

"Chunks o' cold pudding 'n' pieces o' pie, 
Chunks o' cold pudding 'n' pieces o' pie, 
My ma said she'd give me, 
My ma said she*d give me, 
My ma said she'd give me, 
If I wouldn' cry." 

DoANE Robinson 



23 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



CONSISTENCY 

Reproach me not, though it appear, 

While I true doctrines teach, 
I wholly fail in my career 

To practice as I preach. 

Yon guide-post has through countless days 
"To London" pointed on, 
Nor once has quit the angled ways 
And up to London gone. 

DoANE Robinson 



24 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



GRANDMA 

My old Grandma used to say 
Always to us children, **Hey?" 
Dear old soul, she could not hear 
Till we shouted in her ear. 
Sometimes when the dog would bark. 
Grandma dear would say, "Hush, hark!" 
Sometimes when the cat would play, 
Grandma dear would answer, "Hey?" 

I can see her sitting there, 
Knitting in her rocking chair. 
How we children thought it fun, 
Yelling by her side, to run. 
Hiding from her poor dim sight. 
Ere she got half through her fright ! 
How we teased her every day. 
Laughing at her quaint old "Hey?" 

But when stripped all off for bed, 
And our evening prayer was said, 
We would never think of fear 
While Grandma was sitting near ; 
But if she would take the light 
For a moment out of sight, 
We were glad to hear her say 
From some distant corner, "Hey?" 

Many winters now have fled 
Since she watched beside my bed ; 
Many summers passed away 
Since I've heard her answer, "Hey?" 

25 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Calmly rests her silv'ry head 
In the city of the dead, 
But I'd give the world today 
Just to hear her answer. "Hey?" 

B. Vv'. Burleigh 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE WOODLAND PATH 

Through the clover, red and sweet, 

Straggling through a field of wheat, 

Down across the pasture lot 

Where the dandelions dot 

With their golden gleaming tint ; 

Through the brooklet's lush spearmint, 

And the bushes by the ditch 

Where we cut our hazel switch, 

Winding through the orchard trees 

Where the droning bumblebees 

Swagger by on lazy wings ; 

Under drooping elm, where swings 

Cunningly the hang-bird's nest, 

Wherein, cradled 'neath her breast, 

Wee ones rock with every sigh 

Of the breeze that passes by. 

Now along the brookside's brink, 

Where the cattle splash and drink ; 

Through rank bunches of blue flag 

Where the children loiter, lag. 

When from school they homeward turn, 

Walking deep through mint and fern ; 

Then a zigzag way it takes. 

On through mandrake, slough and brakes ; 

Over fallen logs it leads. 

Bramble bush and bending reeds. 

Into deeper, darker shade. 

Mossy dell and flower-strewn glade ; 

Climbs a fence with broken rail, 

27 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

T"-r:u^h the com £e'c -irhere :.ie c .lail 



cry of, ''V.'e: 



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L_:?S lATRO 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE DIFFERENCE 

Sweet, merry Maud and sober Kate 
Together question future fate. 
Each turns her cup just three times three, 
Then looks within, her fate to see. 

"I see a ring," Maud laughing cries, 
"And I a cross," Kate quick replies. 
"A letter, too," said Maud, "I see, 
And a bird to bring it straight to me." 

"I see," said Kate, "a dreary road. 
And bear thereon my heavy load ; 
It runs through all the coming years, 
And life is fraught with bitter tears. ' 

And thus each heart the future sees ; 
Through smiles look those, through tears look 

these ; 
The tears will make the weary way ; 
The smiles light up the darkest day. 

Flora M. Thornton Swift 



29 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



MIGNON 

Know'st thou the land where citrons grow, 
Where dark leaves hide the orange glow, 
Where soft winds wander from the sky 
O'er myrtles still and laurels high. 
Know' St thou that land? 

Then thither flee ; 
I would, my loved one, go with thee. 

Know'st thou the house whose columns loom, 
And shines its hall and garnished room? 
Its marble busts stand mute and mild ; 
Ask what betides thy wandering child. 
Know'st thou this home? 

Then thither flee ; 
I would, my guardian, go with thee. 

Know'st thou the mountain's misty spray. 
Where 'mid the clouds the mules seek way? 
There dragons haunt the caves for blood. 
O'er rocky steep pours down the flood. 
Know'st thou this way? 

Then thither flee ; 
O father, lead, I'll go with thee! 
Translated from Goethe. 

Frank Hermon Wentworth 



30 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

A SOUTH SEA ABSURDITY 

I'm a Borrioboo from Woolloomoolloo, 
And a king of the Friendly Isles ; 

I'm the owner in chief of a coral reef, 
Where a mermaid sits and smiles — 
Where a mermaid sits and smiles on me 

As she combs her dark green locks 
And nibbles the seed of the salt seaweed 

Which clings to the polypous rocks. 

I have been to sea with a manatee 
On the back of a big, black whale ; 

I have warbled a song with a young dugong, 
Who was taking a little sail — 
Who was taking a little sail with me 

In the South Pacific seas. 
But we both had a cough and soon left off 

When the whale began to sneeze. 

I have played fantan with a Chinaman, 
Who swam ashore from his junk ; 

he looked very blue when I won his cue, 
And went on a horrible drunk — 

And went on a horrible, howling drunk. 
Because of his sad, sad loss. 

But we put him in jail to weep and wail 
And pray to his Chinese joss. 

1 have hobnobbed, too, with a cannibal crew 
And sampled their humble fare ; 

O a richer dish than any fried fish 
Was some missionar^^ rare — 
Was some missionary, rarely cooked, 

31 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Served up on a wooden skewer. 
He was done to a fault and with pepper and 
salt 
Was fit for an epicure. 

I have played leap-frog with the pert sea hog 
On the top of the bounding wave ; 

I have straddled a spar with a shipwrecked tar, 
Till he sank to his deep-sea grave — 
Till he sank to his deep-sea grave below, 

Where the sea-ghouls lay in wait 
And shrieked with glee at their banquet free 

As they dined off the captain's mate. 

I have sat in the shade with a young mermaid, 
As she fanned herself with her tail ; 

I have heard her sigh when I swore to die 
If my love should ever fail — 
If my love should ever fail for her, 

My queen of the tropical seas ; 
Then I stole a kiss from this mythical miss 

As I gave her fin a squeeze. 

But away she ran with a gay merman. 
Who brought her a fine-tooth comb ; 

It was mother-of-pearl and it caught my girl, 
For she left my house and home — 
For she left my house and she left me, too, 

Alone on this coral reef, 
And I sit and moan in an undertone. 

For I*m overcome with grief. 

Sam T. Clover 



32 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

MAY 

Month of flowers ! We smile to see 
Warmth and light return with thee ; 
Trees that leafless were and sere, 
Now in emerald robes appear ; 
Birds we missed the winter long, 
Trill thy praise in joyous song. 
From the carpet of the grass 
Nodding at us as we pass, 
Flowers we oft have known before, 
Smile upon us as of yore. 
Overhead the skies are blue 
E'en as when the earth was new; 
White above the swaying tree 
Fleecy clouds float lazily ; 
All things cold and dead appear 
Quickened, as thy steps draw near, 
From the dullness of the tomb 
Into sudden life and bloom. 
And into the hearts of men 
Creeps the warmth of youth again' 
Calling back the blossoms fair 
Crowded out by toil and care. 
All the joys of other years. 
Shrouded by a mist of tears 
Brightly o'er our memories play 
At the coming of the May. 

Mortimer C. Brown 



33 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

BACK ON THE FARM AGAIN 

I tell you what, f er all I try, 
I keep a gettin' mighty dry 

C bein' all shet in. 
I'd like to give my eyes a spree, 
By drinkin' in all I could see, 

Back on the farm agin ; 
Do up the chores out in the barn, 
Come in an' hold old Granny's yarn 

Beside the fire at night. 
In that old house, beside the h'arth, 
Thar lies the centre of the 'arth. 

Or I ain't nowheres right. 

In summer time go out a spell, 

An' take a drink down at the well, — 

Then hear the blackbirds sing. 
Go out among the wilier trees. 
An' take a sniff of that er breeze, — 

An' hear them cowbells ring. 
Jest look out in that field of grain, 
That's growed betwixt sunshine an' rain! 

An' lookey thar ! Each row 
Of that er corn that you kin see. 
Is most as tall as you or me, — 

An' jest see how they grow ! 

Look at them men thar stowin' 'way 
The barn loft full o' bran new hay, — 

An' smell that clover thar ! 
It can't be chained down on the ground. 
But grows right up an' floats around, 

A waftin' everywhar. 

34 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

An' see old Brindle strollin' 'long, 
A bell'rin' out her evenin' song, 

An 'switching round her tail. 
An' when the shadders turn it cool, 
The girl with her old three-legged stool, 

Goes singin' with her pail. 

Then arter all the chores is done, 
An' crickets and their like begun 

To sing their evenin' song ; 
The hosses an' the stock is fed. 
The calves an' sheep is in their shed, 

All jest whar they belong ; — 
It makes a feller feel all right 
To settle down an' watch the night 

A crowdin' out the day. 

them's the scenes that make you glad, 
An' them's the scenes that make you sad. 

When they're all passed away. 

1 tell you what, fer all I try, 
I keep a gettin' mighty dry 

C bein' all shet in. 
I'd like to give my eyes a spree. 
By drinkin' in all I could see, 

Back on the farm agin. 
I don't like this er city noise, 
C crowded streets an' yellin' boys, — 

To me it hain't no charm! 
An' when I leave this world o' sand. 
An' get up in the better land, 

I want to run a farm. 

B. W. Burleigh 



35 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

A FRAGMENT 

Daylight that came upon the hills of Rome — 
Looking upon the city's majesty 
And on the country's loveliness without, — 
Saw hanging, pierced and bleeding on the cross 
A dying saint ; the first pale sun-ray smiled 
On youthful Julia's face where agony 
Since yestemoon had held its cruel sway ; 
Beamed on the form that once had burned with 

life, 
And burned with love for one that hung before 
Upon the cross ; and for this love she died. 

A Roman youth returning from a scene 
Of nightly revel, wandering o'er the hills 
To cool his heated brow — where rested still 
The wild voluptuary's laurel crown — 
Found himself face to face with her that hung 
Upon the cross. No more her countenance 
Bore trace of pain. The spirit as it rose 
To him she loved and died for, left a look 
Of triumph, holiness and joy and peace. 
And the young Roman gazed upon the face 
In^its transfigured beauty till there rose 
Within his soul a high and holy fear, 
Thoughts of unknown and of eternal things — 
And underneath the pierced and bleeding feet 
In reverence he laid his withered crown. 

O holy Truth, the morning surely comes 
When Error, issuing from his nightly haunt, 
Crowned from the revel meets thee face to face. 

36 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

He finds thee bleeding, dying, crucified 
And yet immortal. And thou shalt not be 
As some crushed martyr, but a conqueror, 
Through suffering made strong and sanctified. 
And when the glory of the dawning day 
Shines on thy face, God's fear shall smite his 

heart 
And he shall lay his laurels at thy feet. 

Anna E. Bagstad 



37 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



EVENING IN DAKOTA 

The breeze dies down, 
The air is fresh and fragrant. The budding 

trees 
Exhausted by the long unbroken pressure, 
Uplift their drooping leaves and drink the dew 
Which gives them nourishment and sustenance. 

The boisterous wind 
Is stilled at last, as though worn out 
By its own turbulence. The flagging heart 

revives ; 
The tensioned nerves relax their \-igorous strain, 
Easing the fevered brow and throbbing pulse. 

The placid stars 
In far-off azure heights, peep shyly out 
And to the tired eyes bring soothing sleep. 
A sense of rest pervades the atmosphere — 
Nature seems hushed in quiet thankfulness. 

Sam T. Clover 



38 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



DEAR UTTLE FACE 

Dear little face, so full of trust 

That now is all believing ; 
Dear little face, that some day must 

Find life filled with deceiving ; 
Dear little face, that draws to mine, 

Nor dreams of dreaded danger, 
Would I could keep you to the end 

To disappointment stranger ! 

Dear little face, that asks to know 

The mystery of living ; 
Dear little face, that years will show 

That life was made for giving ; 
Dear little face, where lines will grow 

And deepen with life's sadness, 
Would I could keep you from the low 

Replacing grief with gladness ! 

Dear little face, how can you meet 

A world, strong men defying? 
Dear little one, why must you hear 

The sorrowing and crying? 
Dear little face — I dare not dream 

But, praying here above you, 
I draw you closer in my arms — 

God knows how well I love you ! 

Charles Bracy Lawton 



39 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

MORNING 

*Tis sweet to live ! 
With eager eyes to greet the coming morn ; 
With throbbing heart to see the god of day- 
Arise, in majesty and might arrayed ; 
While o'er the earth and sea and sky he flings 
A robe of royal splendor radiant, 
Bedecked with gleam of gold andglist*ring gems. 

'Tis joy to live! 

'Tis sweet to live! 
To drink deep draughts of Nature's magic spell 
From dewy flowers' blushing grace and all 
The loveliness of hill and field and dale, 
Of winding stream and forest's mazy depths, 
Wherein the gladsome strains of birds entrance 
The brooding spirit's inmost consciousness. 

'Tis joy to live ! 

'Tis sweet to live ! 
To share in all the simple, soothing joys 
Of daily human life, — ^repose from toil; 
The sight of childhood's innocence, untaught 
Of care or worldly thought ; the bond, so strong, 
That joineth friends ; the love of maid or wife, 
Unbought by wealth or fame, the heart's glad 
gift. 

'Tis joy to live I 

'Tis sweet to live ! 
To feel the heart aglow with pride in all 
Our country's might and fame ; with ardent eye 
40 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

To scan the roll prolonged of sons in whom 
She most doth joy ; to know that in her broad 
Domain nor wealth nor blood, but only claim 
Of manhood's worth hath honor's title-deed. 
'Tis joy to live ! 

*Tis sweet to live ! 
To wander glad amid the treasure-halls 
Of Truth; to mark her glitt'ring stores, the 

spoils. 
Hard-won of sages* quest; the while her lamp 
Dispels the gloom of ancient night, and all 
The horrid shapes that lurk therein depart. 
Affrighted at the light that is their death. 

'Tis joy to live ! 

*Tis sweet to live ! 
To thrill beneath the touch of Beauty's wand, 
As in the breathing marble we behold 
The artist's dream, divinely fair, or on 
The glowing canvas spread, or list entranced 
To Music's magic strain, or Poesy's 
Dear song of love or hero's deed or doom. 

'Tis joy to live ! 

'Tis sweet to live ! 
To feel in all the ministries of life 
The bond that binds us fast to fellow-man 
In one great brotherhood ; whereof the source 
And head is He, the Everlasting One, 
Whose arm upholdeth all ; and though full well 
I know the darkness draweth on apace, 

'Tis joy to live ! 

W. J. McMURTRY 

41 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

EVENING 

'Tis sad to live ! 
With weary eyes to note the gathering gloom ; 
With heavy heart to bid the dying day 
Farewell ; and then, forlorn, bereft of light 
And joy, to see the veil of darkness fall, 
In somber folds, o'er all fair Nature's face. 
In dismal pall enshrouding every charm. 

'Tis grief to live! 

'Tis sad to live ! 
To hearken to the night- wind's moan and wail ; 
To see the lightning's glare quick flashing o'er 
The murky sky; while straight the thunder's 

crash 
Doth herald loud and long the tempest's wild 
Advance ; to know that in yon wood the beasts 
Are prowling fierce, to seize upon their prey. 

'Tis grief to live ! 

*Tis sad to live ! 
A part to take in all the heritage 
Of woe that unto man pertaineth, — toil 
That hath no end ; the vision, drear and dread, 
Of children doomed, ere yet the light their eyes 
Doth greet, to sin and shame ; the bitter cry 
Of those who mourn the dear ones gone from 
sight. 

*Tis grief to live ! 

'Tis sad to live ! 
To note how far beneath the mark of her 
High destiny our native land doth aim, 
42 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Content, in place of Freedom's grandest shrine, 
To rear a massive mart of trade, wherein 
Her sons may sell their souls for gold, their eyes 
Too dim and blind to see life's richest gains. 
'Tis grief to live ! 

'Tis sad to live ! 
To listen, sore perplexed, to angry strife 
Of philosophic sects, too soon to learn 
That round about the little life of man 
Extendeth one vast realm of gloom, wherein 
Truth's vaunted lamp is but a tiny spark, 
That serveth best to show the darkness drear. 

'Tis grief to live ! 

'Tis sad to live ! 
To feel the soul, all sensitive to sweet, 
Concordant sights and sounds, assailed and 

vexed 
Most bitterly by Discord's hateful rout ; 
To mark how, out of Beauty's charm, a snare 
Is made for men, whereby, through pride of life 
And Luxury's deceit and bane, they fall. 

'Tis grief to live ! 

'Tis sad to live ! 
To see the strong press hard the weak ; to note 
How outward form and creed usurp the place 
Of heart and deed ; and though the eye of Faith, 
Undimmed, may catch a gleam of clearer light, 
Of brighter day, in far-off earthly years 
Or life beyond the tomb, yet now and here 

'Tis grief to live ! 

W. J. McMURTRY 

43 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE GEM OF THE PRAIRIE 

Far down by the stream on a May day fair, 
Beside the clear water that ripples and flows, 

You will find a treasure of beauty rare, — 
In the gem of our Westland, the sweet wild 
rose. 

Upon the prairie in sunny June, 
Wherever the roving summer wind goes, 

It bears on its wings the faint perfume 
Of the gem of the prairies, the sweet wild 
rose. 

And all through the summer hot and dry, 
O'er the shadeless plain the sunshine glows; 

While other flowers wither and die, 
Blooms the gem of our prairies, the sweet 
wild rose. 

O hail to the flower that brightens our home ! 
O hail ! In profusion it everywhere grows. 
And still in my heart wherever I roam 
Lives the gem of the prairie, the sweet wild 
rose, 

Fannie E, Knapp 



44 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE ECHO 

I dreamed to rest again 

Before my father's door, 
And there with joy looked down 

The old-time vale once more. 

The breeze with gentle play 
Sighs through^the spring-blown buds, 

And over head and breast 
The flowers come down in floods. 

When I awake, the moon 

On forest border shines. 
The yellow light around 

A foreign land outlines. 

And as I gaze about 

For flowers, there's ice instead, 
The land with snow is decked. 
White hairs are on my head. 
Translated from Eichendorff. 

Frank Hermon Wentworth 



45 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE BLIND PIPER 

Good piper of the Spree, 

Why pipe so mournfully 
When brightly smiles the summer day, 
And sunbeams on the river's way 
Are dancing lightly to and fro 
And casting glances from below, 
Caressing warm the bridge's span. 
While zephyrs cool your temples fan? — 

A mist is gath'ring in my eye, — 

Good piper, I must hasten by. 

Ah ! piper of the Spree, 

Why pipe so merrily 
When lowering clouds are sailing fast, 
The swallow, too, is hast'ning past 
And scowling looks the rushing tide. 
Upon whose crest the foam doth ride, 
And whips the bridge's pillar-stays? 
How merrily -sound your oaten lays ! 

I can, thus drawn, not hasten by — 

But what ! is blind my piper's eye? 
G, G. Wenzlaff 



46 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

FARMIN' in DAKOTA 

When old Winter gets his back broke an' begins 

ter lose his grip, 
An' the north end of airth's axle toward the 

sun begins ter tip ; 
When the butter-ducks go whizzin' to their 

summer feedin' grounds, 
An* the medder-lark salutes us with the old 

familiar sounds ; 
When the grass begins ter nestle at the news 

the breezes bring, 
An' the prairie all around us wakens at the 

touch o' Spring, 
O, it's then I like ter hustle, when the day- 
begins ter crack, 
An' go farmin' in Dakota, — ^when the birds 

come back. 

In the hush of airly momin', when the stars are 

still in sight. 
An' the fleecy mists sail upward in the dim, 

uncertain light. 
Every sound that breaks the quiet seems ter 

let a feller know 
That the seed-time is a-comin' an' it's time 

ter make things go. 
TJie honk o' north-bound ganders comes 

a-floatin' from the blue, 
An' the grouse fill in the chorus with a lusty 

"bim-bum-boo !" 
An' the bullfrogs tease a feller, with their 

everlastin' clack, 

47 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

To go farmin' in Dakota, — when the birds 
come back. 

When the pussies on the willers er a-swellin' fit 

ter bust, 
An' th' win' flowers poke their bunnits through 

the hillock's dingy crust ; 
When the smell o' burnin' straws tacks is 

a-floatin' in the air, 
An' the prairie fire its beacons is a-lightin' 

everywhere ; 
Then the instinct prods a feller ter prepare fer 

time o' need. 
An' he longs ter tear the ground up an' fling 

wide the golden seed ; 
So he hooks his team tergether, o'er his 

shoulder slings a sack, 
An' goes farmin' in Dakota, — when the birds 

come back. 

In the winter time a feller kinder seems ter lose 

his hold. 
An' his blood gits thick an' sluggish, till he 'lows 

he's gettin' old. 
He'll poke round among his cattle, from the 

haystack to the barn, 
With a feelin' that he'd kinder like ter jump 

the whole consarn ; 
But when his lazy nostrils git a sniff o' comin' 

spring, 
An' his eyes light on the shadder of a wild goose 

on the wing, 
O, it sets his blood a-prancin', an' he longs 

ter leave his shack 

48 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

An' go farmin' in Dakota, — when the birds 
come back. 

O, the independent feelin' ev'ry pioneer hez 

known, 
When he sets his plow a-diggin' in the ground 

that's all his own ! 
'Tis the key ter Nature's store-house, all her 

treasures ter unfold, 
An' the man that keeps it punchin' never fails 

ter git the gold ; 
So while many er a-kickin' at the way the world 

is run, 
I'll plod onward in the furrow, through the 

shadder an' the sun. 
Quite content ter trust the Giver, at whose 

hand we never lack. 
An' keep farmin' in Dakota, — when the birds 

come back, 

Mortimer C, Brown 



49 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



LIBERTY 

Thou goddess of the gleaming brow and lustrous 

eyes, 
Whose form erstwhile was fettered and 

enthralled, thy free 
And lofty spirit cowed and mocked by t}T:ant's 

might, 
By haughty pride of place and power, 'tis now 

thy day 
Of triumph and of joy. Lo, at thy chariot wheel 
Abased, enchained, are dragged thy cruel lords 

of days 
Gone by, — Oppression void of ruth and Slavery-, 
His child. And round about thine onward 

course, with joy 
O'erpassing every bound, with thunderous 

acclaim. 
The peoples throng, and heap their benedic- 
tions on 
Thy head. And yet, thou beauteous one, e'en 

in this 
Thy day of victory, I fear for thee. The lash, 
The dungeon, well thou could'st endure, — they 

made thee strong. 
But sterner test thou now must meet, — to guide 

thy feet 
Aright in lofty place of pow'r; to turn thine 

eye 
In blazing ^vrath aloof from Flatten,''s deceit; 
To grant thy queenly grace to none but those 

whose hands 

50 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Are clean, to none but those whose hearts are 

set on truth ; 
To cherish all that giveth life of man its worth 
And joy. If so thou rul'st, thy sway shall know 

no end. 

W. J. McMURTRY 



51 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



IRON NATION 

Iron Nation was alone, 
The lodge was far away. 
Mountains intervened. The day 

Was nearly done. 
The evening star hung low, 

And breath of even thrilled the air; 

The coyote shambled from his lair. 
Lapping in thirst the crusted snow. 

Iron Nation drew his blanket close, 
And thought of that rough trail 
That led o'er the Divide; and pale — 

If pallor ever comes to red man — 
His swarthy countenance became. Hark ! 

Was it some bird of night 

That whispered from the height: 
Haste thee, thy soul embark ! 

Then welled in murmurous tones- 
Undertones— no words convey 
Life's parting symphony 

Like forest moans: 
'Last of all my race, 

Now I depart. The camp 

Is blazing there ; here 'tis damp 
And chill. The frost is on my face. 

52 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

"Hail! Happy Hunting Grounds! 
Thy rivers teem with fish 
And in the chase, the wish 

Of youth shall be redeemed. Sounds, 
As from a pleasant summer's keep, 
Are breaking ; but the trail is dim, 
The wigwam is afar. The moon's pale 
rim 
Hangs low behind the woods. I fall — I 
sleep!" 

Will P. Chamberlain 



53 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



LITTLE RED ROSE 

Rose, my Rose, my little red Rose, 
Where are you playing today? 

What love, what charm, what sweetened repose 
Conld keep you so long away? 

1 watch the fire as it burns at night. 
With sparks dancing glad with glee ; 

I see it pale to ashes white, — 
'Twas so, little Rose, with thee. 

O Rose, my Rose, my little red Rose, 

The butterfly lingers nigh, 
With sunbeam kisses upon its wings, 

Waiting for you to pass by. 
The wren sings sweetly her pretty song, 

The breast of the robin glows. 
The crickets chant, "Why tarry so long, 

Dear little playmate, red Rose?" 

O Rose, my Rose, my little red Rose, 

It seems 'twas but yesterday. 
Where the bluebell by the violet grows. 

Singing you ran out to play. 
But angels that gave your dimples birth 

Again kissed your cheek: — God knows 
Why there is pain and sorrow on earth, 

Dear little, sweet little Rose. 

B. W. Burleigh 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

DECORATION DAY ON THE LITTLE BIG 
HORN 

In column of fours the troopers ride, 
Out from the post while the day is young ; 

Veteran troopers, scarred and tried — 
And the story of Custer is on each tongue. 

Over the alkali trail they trot, 
Breathing a sigh for the fallen brave ; 

Eyes affixed on the fated spot 
Where numberless heroes found a grave. 

Past the blanketed, crafty Crows, 
Looking askance with their beady eyes ; 

Steadily onward the column goes 
Up to the ridge where Crittenden lies. 

Up to the top of Monument Hill 

In column of twos the troopers pass ; 

High on the bluff where all is still 
And white stones nest in the buffalo grass. 

The echoing bugle thrills the air 
And far o'er the Little Big Horn floats; 

Dying away in a fitful blare 
With its ever-receding eerie notes. 

Over the trail that Custer trod 

March the troopers with reverent tread ; 
Every step is on blood-bought sod — 

Bought with the lives of the valiant dead. 

55 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Just as they fell before the Sioux 
Under the headstones white they lie ; 

Glistening marbles in constant view 
Mutely proclaiming how heroes die. 

Shoulder to shoulder, back to back, 
Yates and Keogh and Calhoun fought ; 

Off to the center the carbine's crack 
Told of the havoc that Harrington wrought. 

Far to the left a speck of white 
Tells of a trooper's desperate stand; 

Tells of his gallant, hopeless fight 
Right in the heart of that murderous band. 

"This is the spot where Custer fell!" 
Off with your hats, men, as you pass. 

God ! What a savage, exultant yell 
Rose when he lay on that blood-stained grass. 

Sprinkle the soil wnth manly tears. 
Weep for the heroes who died that day; 

Here on this spot a country rears 
Tributes of love to the lifeless clay. 

Over each headstone hang a wreath. 
Weeds and the tangled briars efface ; 

Mutter a prayer for the soul beneath — 
Death such as theirs is a saving grace. 

Never a moment had they to rest, 
Never a priest w^as present to shrive; 

Fighting they fell on the slippery crest, 
And never a trooper was left alive. 

56 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Children have blossomed to men's estate, 
Mothers and sweethearts have passed away, 

Since Custer's regiment met its fate 
Here on the heights that midsummer day. 

Comrades, attention ! the trumpeter calls — 
Ah ! what a vision is this one sees ; 

Over their frailties charity falls — 
Christ, have mercy on such as these. 

Sam T, Clover 



57 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

MORNING IN GALILEE 

*Tis morning over Lake Gennesaret. 

The mist clouds, from the valley fountains 

sucked 
By night's wood hewing, water drawing slaves, 
To feed their drowsy master's vapor bath, 
Still hang on Tabor's and Gadara's crests, 
And drink the blue smoke curling idly up 
From newly kindled breakfast fires in all 
The nine proud cities of the mimic sea ; 
The towers of Magdal meet the capital 
Of new Tiberias on the placid face 
Of Chinnereth's blue looking-glass. 
A great Damascan merchant's caravan. 
To Cairo bent, passing the parted night 
At Khan Minyeh in white Capernaum, 
Now early breaks its rest and stretches down 
The western shore from Magdal to the Baths. 
A fisher's boat deep laden with the fruit 
Of one unwonted fortune-favored draught, 
Floats to Bethsaida, and the happy song 
The prospered fishers sing, ripples and throbs 
The lucent air in waves of harmony. 
And lo the sun ! the great, round yellow sun. 
Breaks full above Peraea's tomb-strawn hills. 
And Jordan's vale o'erflows with floods of gold, 
And Chinnereth's blue is brewed to whitest 

wine 
Bestowed within a flower-rimmed amber vase. 
Far up the brooklet's winding course, 
Clear painted on the unsubstantial haze, 
A city stands, with walls and sentried tower. 

58 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Too great it seems, this city mirage-built, 

To fade before the first fair morning breeze, 

But as it falls, so soon shall you go down, 

Capernaum, Tiberias, Magdal, 

And you Chorazin and Bethsaida strong. 

A little space, an hour, a day, no more 

In time's account, and learned men will come 

Saying, " 'Twas surely here or here about." 

But looking up the brooklet's winding course. 

When the great sun breaks o'er Peraea's hills. 

Clear painted on the unsubstantial haze. 

Will stand the town with sentried walls and 

tower. J 

Which then the greater, stronger, best? 
Which then the work of men? Which mirage- 
built? 

DoANE Robinson 



59 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE MOODS 

I conned a poet*s book from page to page, 
And marked the many moods in which he 

sung. 
And some were early songs, and bold, and 
rung 
Of love and wine, and passions, and the rage 
Of his wild, violent heart. And some the sage, 
Man-grown, had writ; and here, it seemed, 

the tongue 
Of mighty genius, free and curbless. flung 
Its priceless thoughts to men. But in old age, 
In the calm autumn, free from pang or pain, 
O, then his songs were sweetest to the ear; 
He sang of sunsets in the golden west, 
Of yellow harvest moons, and gathered grain. 
Of heaven, and the hour we tarry here ; — 
I loved the tranquil songs of age the best. 

Will Dillman 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

LADDIE 

From on the mountain's height each day, 
I look far out upon the bay- 
That leads unto the restless sea, 
The sea that holds my heart from me, 

*Twas on a summer's afternoon. 
The sun was red as harvest moon. 
'Mid sails as white as flowers of May, 
I saw my Laddie borne away. 

And as the dreary years roll by, 
I wonder if the time is nigh 
When Laddie will come back to me, 
My Laddie on the restless sea. 

Tho' skies be dark, tho' skies be blue, 
I know my Laddie's love is true. 
I'll trust the heart that said to me, 
"Trust on till I return to thee." 

One night a seagull cried to me, 
*'Thy Laddie sails an unknown sea." 

One night I heard the breakers roar, 
"Thy Laddie's on an unknown shore." 

Yet from the mountain's crest each day, 
I gaze far out upon the bay 
That leads unto the restless sea, 
The sea that holds my heart from me. 

B. W. Burleigh 



6i 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE WATCHERS 

On some brown hill the patient herd-boy lies 
All through the dim and dull-red autumn day, 
Seeing the few clouds floating far and gray, 
Seeing the mile-high plover soar and rise, 
Hearing the cattle graze in muffled wise. 
Now and anon his yearning glances stray 
About the faint horizon far away, 
Where the wide prairie meets the bending skies. 
So, from their thousand homes of hopeless toil, 
Are longing looks of dull-eyed women sent. 
Through weary days of work and nights of 

pain. 
So, grim and wind-blown tillers of the soil. 
Gaze, and still gaze, yet find no solacement 
0*er their life's drear and limitless wide plain. 

Will Dillman 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



JUNE 

O, peerless June ! O, love's own time — 
From out thy heart pours nature's rhyme. 
Thy lilting songs through waves of light 
Beat upward with the skylark's flight; 
Thy fragrant breath, with wooing sigh, 
Breathes forth where waxen lilies lie, 
And as thy languorous spell imparts 
Its warmth to their half -dreaming hearts — 
They thrill with life! th* buds unfold 
To show their calyxes of gold. 
O, peerless June! O, love's own time! 
From out thy heart pours nature's rhyme. 

O, peerless June ! O, witching time ! 
Thy harmonies are all achime. 
Thy tilts of color, — brilliant, — gay, — 
Thy flower wraiths that droop and sway ; 
Thy pale moon-tints laced back by stars 
That swing from twilight's crimson bars. 
Thy butterflies make dots between 
The brooklet and the meadow-green ; 
Thy bumble-bees with threatening drone 
Protect thee on thy flower throne. 
Rose-kissed, — rose-crowned ! fair month atune 
With nature's grace, — O peerless June. 

May PiiiLLirs Tatro 



63 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



SYLVAN LAKE 

Calm, placid mirror of the skies, 
Safe guarded by thy rocky walls, 

In tranquil sleep thy bosom lies, 
Or sighing gently heaves and falls. 

The stern gray rocks that grandly lift 
Their furrowed faces high in air 

To where the sun-kissed vapors drift 
Smile down upon thee, sleeping there. 

The tall, dark pines, thy henchmen good, 
Close to thy dancing ripples press, 

Or bow their heads in pensive mood 
To whisper of thy loveliness. 

Fair Sylvan Lake ! No tempests sweep 
Across thy doubly-guarded breast ; 

In calm content thy beauties sleep, 
A haven of untrammeled rest. 

Mortimer C. Brown 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



YOU PRETTY FISHER MAIDEN 

You pretty fisher maiden. 
Come row your boat to land ; 

Draw near me and be seated ; 
Talk with me, hand in hand. 

Your head lay on my bosom, 

And do not fearful be ; 
The deep you row so careless 

And daily ti*ust the sea. 

My heart is like the ocean : 
Has storm and ebb and flow, 

And many pearls and rarest 
Rest in its depths below. 
Translated from Heine. 

Frank Hermon Wentworth 



65 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



SUBLIMITY 

I asked a maiden in the blush of youth, 

In whose gray eyes there shone the germs of 

truth, 
Whose soft red lips were parted in a smile, 
Whose lovely face was innocent of guile: 
"What do you hold the dearest thing in life?" 
"To be," she answer made, "a happy wife!" 

I asked the mother, as she softly pressed. 
With tender care, an infant to her breast. 
Whose gentle glances hovered o'er the child — 
Which, sleeping, of the angels dreamed and 

smiled — 
"What is the sweetest pain there is on earth?" 
She bent and kissed the babe: "In gi\ang 

birth!" 

I asked the matron, who with loving pride 
Beheld the children clustered by her side ; 
Who in the wicker chair rocked to and fro — 
Just as she rocked and crooned in years ago — 
"What is the greatest blessing God can send?" 
"A home where love and sweet 'contentment 
blend!" 

I asked a wrinkled woman, o'er whose head 
The snows of many a winter had been shed. 
Whose children from the roof-tree far had 
strayed — 

66 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Whose husband in his grave had long been 

laid— 
"What is the dearest memory of your life?" 
"The day that I was made a happy wife !" 

Sam T. Clover 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



CELIA 

Celia hath a winning grace, 

Something rare, 
Not more winning than her face 

Or her hair. 
Dimples play at hide and seek 
All day long on Celia 's cheek. 
No one ever calls her meek 

Or debonair. 

Eyes of brown which send a glance 

Here and there, 
Do her beauty much enhance. 

All declare. 
Eyes which always seem to say 
In a merry, careless way: 
*'Life is but a roundelay 

Everywhere.'* 

How she walks I scarce could tell 

Did I dare. 
Lithesome like a lily's bell. 

Light as air. 
All she hath of tears and woes, 
If at all such things she knows, 
More with poetry than prose, 

Will compare. 

She can talk both warm and cold — 
Ah, beware ! 
68 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Filling hearts of young or old 

With despair. 
And I wonder, since she seems 
To be made of dizzy dreams, 
How she weaves such wily schemes 

To ensnare. 

Celia's broken many hearts, 

Was it fair? 
She hath false and fickle arts, 

I can swear. 
Time is growing on apace — 
Maidens taking Celia's place 
Leave her but a broken vase, 

Who will care? 

Charles Bracy Lawton 



6q 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

ONE OF THE PALLS 

I were a pall to the burryin', 

Joe's finally out o' the way, 

Nothin' 'special ailin' o' him. 

Just or age and ginr'l decay. 

Hope to the Lord 'at I'll never be 

or an' decrepit an' useless as he. 

Cuss to his family the last five year — 

Monstrous expensive with keep so dear, — 

'Sides all the fuss an' worryin*. 

Terrible trial to get so old — 

Cur'us a man '11 continue to hold 

On to life when it's easy to see 

His chances for livin', tho' dreffelly slim, 

Are better'n his family are lottin' for him. 

Joe 'us 'at kind o' a hanger-on — 

Hadn't no sense o' the time to quit; 

Stunted descreeshun an' stall-fed grit 

Helped him unbuckle many a cinch 

Whar sensible men 'ud a died in the pinch. 

Kind o' tickled to have him gone ; 

Bested for once and laid away, 

Got him down whar he boun' to stay; 

I were a pall to his burryin'. 

Knowed him for more'n sixty year back — 
Used to be summ'at older 'an him — 
Fought him one night to a huskin' bee, 
Licked him in manner uncommon complete ; 
Every one said 't'us a beautiful fight — 
Joe he wan't satisfied with it that way, 
Kep' dingin' along an' w'en he got through 

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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

The wust lookin' critter 'at ever you see 
Were stretched on a bed rigged up in the hay — 
They carted me home the follerin' day. 
Got me a sweetheart, purty an' trim — 
Tole me 'at I's a heap lik'ler'n Joe; 
Mittened him twict, Joe kep' on the track. 
Follered her round ary place she 'ud go ; 
Offered to lick him; says she, "It's a treat, 
Le's watch an* fin' out what the poor crit- 
ter '11 do": 
Watched him, believin' the thing 'us all right — 
That identical gal is Joe's widder to-night. 
Run to be jestice, then Joe he run too ; 
Knowed I 'us pop'lar, an' he hadn't a friend. 
So thar wan't no use o' my hurryin'. 
The 'lection come off, we counted the votes, 
I hadn't enough — Joe had 'em to lend. 
Now all the way through I been takin' notes 
C his disagreeable way, 
An' it tickles me now to be able to say 
He's bested fer good in the end: 
Got him down whar he boun' to stay, 
I were a pall to his burryin'. 

DoANE Robinson 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



AN IDEAL 

I'll worship beauty, — so ran a poet's thought; 
Rare tints and colorings and grace shall win 
My utmost praise ; words ever shall be quick 
To lend a gracious touch and rounded praise 
Unto the seal that loveliness proclaims. 
Uncounted shall life's drabs and plainness be — 
Worthy of earth, indeed, I know they are. 
But, void of higher gift, may not demand 
The adoration of my willing pen ! 

But when on distant shores he stricken lay, 
Helpless and sick, where only strangers came, 
And by his couch an aged woman knelt. 
From whom all youthful beauty was effaced. 
And who did gently bathe the sufferer's brow — 
Speaking as mother-love alone impels — 
The poet now put away his old resolve, 
And found eternal beauty in that face. 

Will P, Chamberlain 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



MY WILD ROSE GARDEN 

Mine is no choice collection rare 

Of stately palms and orchids fair, 

But just a maze of lovely tangle 

O'er-run with fern, wild rose and bramble; 

Ay! sweeter far than hot-house gems, 

Wild roses on their slender stems ! 

Their fragrance floating everywhere, 

Filling the hazy, summer air 

With subtle perfume, faint and sweet, 

My wild rose garden, full, complete — 

With coloring like a sea-shell tint — 

While over all the sunbeams glint 

And flirt, and play with petals pink, 

And glittering dew-drops rise and sink 

Into the hearts of these fair things ; 

A skylark madly, sweetly sings 

His joy that so much beauty glows 

Within the life of a wild rose. 

May Phillips Tatro 



73 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



CHILDHOOD 

When, from the arches of the skies, 
The evening shades are downward flung 

And, in their purpling canopies, 
The beacons of the night are hung, 

The fetters of maturity- 
Are from the burdened spirit cast, 

And recreant Fancy wanders free 
Along the byways of the past. 

Far back, through half -forgotten scenes 

That throng the middle course of life, 
Regretful memory fondly gleans 

'Mid joys in childhood's hours rife. 
The haunts we loved, where first our feet 

Against our Mother Earth were pressed, 
Now seem a sorrowless retreat 

Where weary wanderers may rest. 

Each pleasure then was free from pain. 

Each sorrow lasted but a day. 
And every cloud that threatened rain. 

By smiling suns was chased away. 
No gall was mingled with the sweet. 

No serpent trailed the paths of youth. 
Each gift was in itself complete. 

And every friend a friend in truth. 

Long is the path that leads me down 
From those dear scenes to where I stand, 

74 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

And meagre are the gifts that crown 
My days that toil on sea and land ; 

And as the weary seasons roll 
My heart is filled with longings wild, 

To thrust life's burden from my soul, 
And be once more a happy child. 

Mortimer C. Brown 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

THE MEADOW-LARK 

Before the last of winter's drift has thawed 
And run in rills to swell the creek, that glides 

Among the rushes sear and willows gray, 

The meadow-lark, sweet harbinger of spring, 
Comes piping in the drowsy life that hides 

From grim, all-devastating frosts away. 

And when the first bold flower, — the violet, 
Or 'tis th' anemone — wide opes its eyes 

Upon the meadows quiet to greet the morn, 

The prairie's homely bird sings matin lays. 
That clear and sweet mount swelling to the 
skies 

And then on ether wings are softly borne. 

When twilight shades come o'er this prairie 
world 
In summer's garb, and thousand eyes then 
close 
Upon the waning splendor of the evening sky, 
The meadow-lark's clear roundelay resounds 

And lulls sun-sated life to cool repose — 
Ne'er heard the flowers a sweeter lullaby! 

At last the fields, once gay, stand brown and 
sear. 
And silent is the crickets' chorus-song. 
The weary flower, drooping on the stem. 
Now sleeps its long, long sleep, and weary looks 
The sun. The meadow-lark, of all the throng 
Of birds, remains to pipe the requiem. 

G. G. Wenzlaff 
76 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



HERDING 

No end of rich green medder land 
Spicked out with ever' kind of poseys. 
Es fer as I kin understand 
They's nothin' else on earth so grand 
Es just a field of prairy roseys, 
Mixed up with blue, gold-beaded plumes 
Of shoestring flowers and peavey blooms. 
Take it a warm, sunshiny day. 
When prairys stretch so fer away 
Ther lost at last in smoky gray, 
And hulkin* 3'oke-worn oxen browse 
Aroun' the coteaus with the cows, — 
The tipsy, stag'rin day-old calf 
Mumbles a bleat and slabbers a laugh — 
And yearlin' steers, so round and slick, 
Wade in the cool and sparklin* crick, 
While cute spring bossies romp and play 
With Ponto, in the tall slough hay. 
Yeh picket out the gentle Roany, 
Yer knowin', faithful herdin' pony. 
And tumblin' down upon yer back 
Wher' gay, sweet-smellin* beauties bide 
In posey beds, three counties wide, 
You take a swig of prairy air. 
With which old speerits ken't compare, 
And think and plan, and twist, and rack 
Yer brains, to work some scheme aroun' 
To get a week to spend in town. 

DoANE Robinson 



77 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

THE GOLDEN WEST 

(Ballade.) 

Where the grasses are kissed by the wandering 
breeze, 

And the fields are rich with the golden grain ; 
Where the schooner plows through the prairie 
seas 

To its destined port on the western plain, 

Where homes may never be sought in vain, — 
And hope is the thriftiest plant that grows ! 

Where man may ever his rights maintain 
And land is as free as the wind that blows ! 

Where the soil is the richest the eye ever sees. 

And the people a unit of muscle and brain ; 
Where far from the cities of indolent ease 

The prodigal son his place may regain. 

Where the trail gives place to the thundering 
train, — 
And the plow turns under the prairie rose ! 

Where the farmers are happy and never 
complain 
And land is as free as the wind that blows ! 

Where the queen of the soil is the goddess 
Ceres, 
Her scepter, the sunshine, — her consort, the 
rain; 
Where the fruits of this garden of Hesperides 
All the life-giving blessings of heaven con- 
tain. 

78 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Where vigor and health forever remain — 
Through summer heat and December snows ! 

Where nature is seen in her happiest vein 
And land is as free as the wind that blows ! 

(Envoy.) 

Come, blue-eyed Norse and sturdy Dane, 
And witness the gifts which Heaven bestows; 

Where health and wealth and plenty reign 
And land is as free as the wind that blows ! 

Sam T. Clover 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE OLD SOD SHANTY 

It Stood Upon an unturned plain 
Beside the Bru-le's sloping bank. 
The grass around was tall and rank 

That, breeze swept, was an ocean main. 

Bold sunflowers decked the turf -piled roof ; 
For these, indeed, were pioneers, 
That westward prest and knew no fears 

* Gainst which their natures were not proof. 

The door an artisan might scorn ; 

A window, too, — God spare the mark! 

*Twas home, although 'twas sometimes 
dark, 
A home where tinsel was not born. 

And oft the long autumnal rain 

Came through the chinks with drip and 
pat. 

And we looked somewhat like the rat — 
That misused rat of boyhood fame. 

The old sod shanty, crumbling now 
Beneath the weight of drifting time, 
Wove out its own unpolished rhyme. 

And 'graved it on the settler's brow. 

Vast change o'er all may come, and will, 
The curtain rise on vaster years ; 
But ah ! there lingers, half in tears. 

That mouldering shanty's mem'ry still. 

Will P. Chamberlain 

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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



MISTER TAPLEY 

Along in June 

Sech craps I never seen, 

The wheat stud up above knee-high, 

So kind of rich and blue-black green, 
"I ruther calkerlate," sez I, 
'I'll go to town this afternoon 

And buy a bran new bind-machine.'* 

Come night, when Jones sot on the rail 
A-whinin' bout the 'tarnal hail 
Thet give the craps a swashin', 
I sez, — a-pickin' up a pail. 
And scoopin* up a bar'l of hail 
To melt fer washin', — 
"Wall, I don't feel half-way so mean 
Es ef I'd bought thet bind-machine." 

DoANE Robinson 



8i 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



O WINDING SIOUX 

winding Sioux ! O winding Sioux ! 
For many a mile I've followed you; 
Along your banks I love to stray 
Far from the dusty, traveled way. 

From prairies, bare of shrub or tree 

1 turn, O sinuous stream, to thee ! 
And in thy leafy shade I find 

A solace for the careworn mind. 

In graceful curves across the plain — 
And in and out through fields of grain — 
With sluggish step and murmuring song 
You wind your dreamy way along. 

Anon with quickened pulse you flow 
To join the eddying swirl below ; 
And onward plunge through rocky dells 
With heaving breast and troubled swells. 

Then once again in quiet shade — 
Below the stately palisade — 
O'er jasper rocks you slip and splash 
With giddy haste and reckless dash. 

O winding Sioux ! O winding Sioux ! 
Through summer days I've followed you; 
And on your banks amid your braes 
Have sung your never-ending praise. 

Sam T. Clover 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

OLE UNCLE EPH 

Dar's heaps o' music in de rustlin' ob de corn, 
O yas, dar is now, shore's you's born ; 
It keeps a-singin' in dis pore old darkey's ear, 
De same's it's done fo' many a year. 

Long 'go I heerd it like a hummin' in de air, 

Long 'fore I wore dis old white hair ; 

Sounds 'bout de same jas* as it alius used to 

sound, 
Down on de ole plantation ground. 

When all de darkies would be singin' round at 

night, 
Yas, ebery one wid all his might, 
We'd dance an' shuffle wid de fiddle an' de 

bow. 
Away back dar long years ago. 

Dar's heaps o' mem'ry in de rustlin' ob de corn, 

yas, dar is now, shore's you's born ; 

Dar's voices singin' out among de wavin' 
leaves. 

All in de night an' mornin' breeze. 

1 sees de darkies all a-workin' in de com, 
Long 'fore de sunrise in de morn, 

Den hear dem singin' an' a-shoutin' in de night, 
Out whar de moon am shin in' bright. 

Dar's heaps o' sadness in de rustlin' ob de corn, 
O yas, dar is now, shore's you's born. 
Whar is de darkies dat was singin' all dc day? 
Jas' whar's dey gone now, anyway? 

83 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

It's mighty lonesome since dis darkey's all 

alone, — 
Now since his 'Liza's dead an' gone, — 
An' all de chilun is a hi din' far away 
Jas' like dey use to hide an' play. 

But spects I'll find 'em all agin some udder day, 

I'll hear 'em laugh an' shout an' say, 

*'We's waitin'. Uncle Eph, jas' waitin' now 

fo' you, 
Until yo'r work down dar is fro'." 

B. W. Burleigh 



84 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



SOLITUDE 

When sated with the bitter and the sweet 
Of common life and duty's constant round, 
A longing draws me out beyond the hills 
On solitary paths. I wander there 
Toward clouds like phantoms hovering o'er the 

line 
Where earth and heaven meet. So free and all 
Alone to feel the earth 's broad throbbing breast, 
I greet the evening wind, full fraught with 

scents 
Of green expanse ; I greet the silence deep, 
Pierced only by the insect's shrilly song. 
The ardent tints that spread to fill the world, 
My being also fill, and kinship now 
I claim with yonder isolated group 
Of lofty forms, firm rooted, towering dark 
Against the lucent sky. The fading lights, 
That throw their harmonizing shroud o'er all, 
Hold also me in welcome solitude. 

G. G. Wenzlaif 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



DISAPPOINTMENT 

As one who dreams of happy sunlit skies, 
Music of martins, laughter, and ripe grain, 
And waking finds the window dark with rain, 

While over all gray melanchol}- lies, — 

So from my empty vision do I rise. 
Was I not promised being without pain, 
Seasons of rapture, love, and golden gain? 

So, how each vain incorporal phantom flies ! 

Why, what a round of useless toil I go ! 

Why should I strive and struggle bootlessly? 

A day, and I shall quit the fields I know, 
And the fair flocks, and each bird's litany. 

My very heart, decayed and dust, shall blow 
A rose to deck one coming after me. 

Will Dillman 



86 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



MY SOLDIER BOY 

When evening shadows fell last Christmas day, 
We bore him gently in our arms away ; 
For all day long, from rise of morning sun, 
Full many battles had he lost and won. 

Once and again the foemen sallied out, 
'Mid trumpet blast and loud exulting shout, 
To meet the enemy and hold at bay 
The onward rushing troops in dread dismay. 

Far from the cushioned ramparts' dizzy height. 
Where gleamed the soldiers* helmets in the 

light 
There tumbled twenty brand new men or more 
All on the battlefield, — the parlor floor. 

What if the horses were of wood? They ran 
As fast as when at sunrise they began. 
And soldiers made of tin do not retreat, 
As long as there's a worthy foe to meet. 

And Fido, thinking warfare was but play. 
Barked loudly as he saw the bloody fray ; 
While imderneath the Christmas evergreen 
Was waged the hardest battle ever seen. 

One ever-moving figure held my gaze, 

As swiftly in the midst of cannon's blaze, 

He ever and anon, with waving hair, 

Sent shouts and drumloeats thro* the lurid air. 

87 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

I could but love him as I saw him fight 
Against the stronger foe from morn till night ; 
And as his childish figure struggled there, 
I lifted up for him a mother's prayer. 

The battle seemed secured 'mid weapon's 

gleams, 
When reinforcements from the land of dreams 
Fought hard against my hero on the field, 
And step by step I saw him backward yield. 

Then o'er the battlefield on every hand, 
The air was darkened by a storm of sand ; 
Too weary grew my soldier's limbs to leap, 
I saw him fall upon the floor — asleep. 

The carpet battlefield was figured red, 

Where lay my fallen hero's golden head; 
One hand still clasped his trusty bugle true, 
One arm around his silent drum he threw. 

Then as the noise of battle died away, 
While curfew tolled the end of Christmas day, 
We gently lifted up his curly head, 
And softly bore him to his little bed. 

And as we smiled we kissed the darling boy. 
Well knowing that the day was one of joy. 
Well knowing that the drum and bugle, too, 
Would signal early that the fight renew. 

B. W. Burleigh 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



MY HOME 

When the sun rides high 

In the cloudless sky, 
And the scorching south winds blow ; 

And the fierce beams beat 

With a tropic heat 
On the parched earth below ; 

When the prairie's green 

And shimmering sheen 
Is changed to autumnal brown, 

Then I think ofttime 

Of another clime,'! 
And long for the storm-cloud's frown, 

I think of the hills 

And the sparkling rills, 
That gem their emerald slopes ; 

The forests and trees, 

The rocks and the leas. 
The glens and the brookside copse. 

Oh ! the mystic maze 

Of the woodland ways. 
Where a child I used to roam ! 

Oh ! the charms so rare 

Of the valley fair, 
That I love to call my home ! 

Fannie E. Knapp 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE COTEAUS OF DAKOTA 

Oh, the coteaus of Dakota, hear them sing, — 
Mimic mountains of the prairies fair and 
free, — 

In their music hear the prophecy they bring 
Of the grandeur of Dakota's jubilee ! 

Hearken at the dawning to their singing, 

Hear the chorus of the peaks, bravely ringing. 

' * We wave the grass, we strew the flowers, 
We feed these sparkling springs of ours, 
We drink the rain, we blue the lakes, 
We drift the winter's pliant flakes." 

Hear the merry morning chorus of the peaks ! 

"Our gracious soil the garner fills. 
The flocks are scattered on our hills ; 
In plenty's store, in perfect health, 
We've comfort and abundant wealth." 

Hear the thrifty morning chorus of the peaks ! 

"We see our bluffs and coulees throng 
With men and women fair and strong. 
With every gift and every grace 
Becoming the supremest race." 
Hear the grand prophetic chorus of the peaks ! 

Oh, the coteaus of Dakota, hear them sing, — 
Mimic mountains of the prairies fair and 
free, — 

In their music hear the prophecy they bring 
Of the grandeur of Dakota's jubilee ! 

DOANE ROBIXSON 

go 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



CONTENT 

One seeks in vain 
A fairer country than this broad domain: — 
Where freedom dwells on coteau, hill, and 

plain — 
And fertile prairies, rich with growing grain, 
Invite the men of courage, brawn, and brain. 

Hither on breezy wing 
Far from the pampered east a-wandering — 
All gilded customs to the winds I fling ; 
Why should my heart to city pleasures cling? 
My shack's a castle ! and I reign its king. 

Then come what may. 
Here, in this cabin rude, content I'll stay; 
Here, at my cabin door, I'll whiff away 
The cares and troubles of a yesterday: — 
Why should I change my lot? Why farther 
stray? 

Sam T. Clover 



0^ 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE RAPIDS 

Be thou, my boat, trim-rigged and sure of oar. 
That when the placid waters are passed o'er, 
And on my ear the rapids' mutter breaks. 
Their sweeping threat no craven fear awakes ; 
But as the trapper lone, e'en drifting there, 
Doth with him recent trophies calmly bear, — 
So I, though heart and hand less firm may be, 
Would sing about thy brink, Eternity ! 

Would sing, as in the bygone days I sang 
A child at play upon those bars, and sprang 
From one pink shell to where in sandy mire 
A larger hid the day's pellucid fire; 
For still as children, mocked by mystery, 
Of stronger growth, we note the calling sea 
And feel the onset of the tugging stream 
Which seems to mock, Fares thus thy cherished 
dream? 

Oh ! in that thrill of dashing waters I 
Shall find my truer self, and laughing, cry 
Unto the churning, swirling, bending foams, 
About me dashing, "Ye are play! Your moans 
Are tinkling strains; your spray is summer 

dew!" 
Why should I turn aside, or deeply rue 
Life's parting stroke, or even shudder then? 
Ay, from the rapids I shall rise again ! 

Will P. Chamberlain 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

NOT YET, NOT YET 

O weary watcher, not yet, not yet ! 

You must still work on with dim eyes wet. 

And scan the waves with their white-capped 

foam, 
For a sign of a sail that is nearing home. 
It will not reach you, dear heart, to-day, 
For your treasure went sailing away, away 
Far over the world's great surging main. 
And this must content you. this sad refrain — 
Not yet, not yet I 

Not yet ! and the years creep slowly by 
And we struggle for patience and hush the cry 
That comes from the soul as we look in vain 
For the swift release from the toil and pain 
• That forms a part of our daily life, 
A part that is mingled with grief and strife ; 
But no ! We must wait for some far-off time. 
When our treasures will come, ah, yours and 
mine! 

Not yet, not yet! 

Not yet, not yet ! O tired heart, 
You have drifted so far from your ships apart ; 
At eventide, when the sun sinks low, 
And the twilight shadows toss to and fro, 
You may watch till the morning's rosy light 
Sweeps over the world, but your eager sight 
Will never a glimpse of a white sail see — 
O, when will my treasures come back to me? 
Not yet, not yet ! 

May Phillips Tatro 

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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



HELPIN HAY 

Been up to WilPs, 

A-helpin* hay. 

They's suthin' fills 

A man, 

Wen he's a-makin' hay, 

'Ith sort o' satisfact'ry sense, 

Like goin' to a dollar show 

Fer suthin' under fifty cents. 

I alius can — 

Wen I'm a-makin* hay 

Up ther' to Will's, 

Wen daisies blow 

*N ' yaller goldenrods 

Flickers 'n' nods, 

'N' thistles show 

Acrost the fence 

Wher' loafin* critters feeds 

Amongst the bresh 'n' weeds — 

Feel rich enough, though I ain't wuth a cent, 

To buy the yeth 'n' run the govament. 

Ther's some folks kind o' grills 

Wen they're ableeged to work, 

'N' sort o' fret 'n' fume, 

'N' hunt a show to shirk; 

But w'en I'm helpin' hay 

Up ther' to Will's, 

Wen blue-j'ints bloom, 

'N' swishin' sprangle-top 

94 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Are makin' crop, 

'N' peavy-buds are gittin* red 'n* redder, 

I ain't afeard of work, 

But all the shim'ry day, 

Flat on a bunch of hay, 

I slouch down on the medder, 

Wile Will fo'ks up the hay. 

DoANE Robinson 



95 



(. 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



BEAUTIFUL BIG STONE 

When from the burdens and toil of the day 
Mortals, etwesiTy, would wander away, 
Shake from their spirits the mantle of care, 
Seeking for freedom, as birds in the air, 
Gladly they turn to thy restful retreat, 
Where sister states in sweet unity meet, 
Bathe in thy waters and float on thy breast, 
Beautiful Big Stone, the Gem of the West ! 

Light on thy bosom the water-fowl glides, 
Deep in thy waters the finny shoal hides. 
Tempting the sportsman his skill to employ. 
Crowning each day with its measure of joy ; 
Softly re-echo from forest and shore 
Puff of the steamer and plash of the oar, 
Bearing glad hearts on a pleasure-bound quest- 
Beautiful Big Stone, the Gem of the West ! 

Here gentle Nature communes with the soul. 
Murmuring low in the billows that roll. 
Singing sweet songs in the whispering trees, 
Lisp of the ripple and sigh of the breeze. 
Smoothing the wrinkle and bringing again 
Sunshine and youth to the spirits of men ; 
All who are wearj^ thou givest them rest, 
Beautiful Big Stone, the Gem of the West ! 
Mortimer C. Brown 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



SWEET DEATH 

Ah, now I know that you who seemed so cold, 
That you of whom I felt the deepest awe 
And dread year after year ; in whom I saw 
A foe to bear me to a tomb where mould, 
Decay, and dampened clods would me infold, 
Are, after all, my friend. There is no flaw 
To-day I would amend in nature's law 
Which put me in your strange and subtile hold. 
With faith grown out of hope, I place my hand 
Thus willingly in yours, with no regret 
That you have come. To gain the unknown 

land 
Which you conceal, I gladly pay the debt ; 
For this weak, flagging clay no more is manned 
To brave life's way, and timely we have met. 
Charles Bracy Lawton 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE REAPERS 

Far toward the half-set sun I saw the reapers, 
Near the wild ending of the wind-blown day, 
Each driver with his four-in-hand, the horses 
Hastening over the bloody-stubbled hills, 
At one side and behind the war-like dust-cloud 
Following each ; they were the charioteers, 
Guiding over the trembling fields of slaughter 
Scythe-bearing chariots of the Persian king. 
And now some turned the curve with high- 
raised whips, 
Like swords, and wide-mouthed prancing 

steeds ; they were 
The wild cloud-fighting warriors of the skies 
The Romans saw o' nights i' the Punic War. 
And still they passed in the red evening wind. 
Far down the west in silver-shining dust, 
The reels flashing like burnished oars; they 

were 
The Argonautic seekers of the fleece. 
The fifty Greeks, sailing the sun- set seas. 

Will Dillman 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



BESIDE THE SIOUX 

Dear river, through a trellising of vines, 
Where cling the purpling grapes of autumn 

days, 
I view thy dappling currents' onward trend, 
And watch the shadows crowd the sun's rude 

blaze. 
Yea, charmful musings doth thy spell impart, 
To twine about and permeate the heart. 

The blue-brown dove, perched in a stunted ash. 
Goes o'er the monody of her welling plaint. 
A restless quail within the willows' screen. 
Pipes forth his tuneful notes, now shrill, now 

faint. 
And thou, bright Sioux, dost know these vary- 
ing moods. 
Snug in thy drowsy thralls of verging woods. 

Oft when bold weather laid its iron grip 
Upon thy marge, and trees were void and gray, 
I cleft thy crystal sheen with steely blade. 
And oft while crouched to drink at parting day, 
I found thy labor was a ceaseless song, 
Tho' boreal clouds did heavy hours prolong. 

And now this afternoon of Sabbath balm. 
With Mother Nature's hand upon my soul, 
I stretch me out upon the sloping sward, 
Where crickets drone their chirrupings of dole 
In slow-time measure, and the vapory dew 
Trails on thy waters, my beloved Sioux. 

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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

O, when my life's last dream is put away, 
And when my eyes close in death-curtained 

sleep, 
I would my dust might mingle then with thee, — 
A part of all thy silent waters' sweep 
Down pictured avenues, e'en to the sea, — 
Till I be lost beneath its depths with thee. 

Will P. Chamberlain 



loo 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



HARVEST TIME 

The binder now is silent 

And the trim stacks dot the plain. 
The thresher, thro' the hazy air, 

Drones forth a soft refrain ; 
Like golden sands the winnowed wheat 

O'erleaps the measure's rim 
While stack-bound crickets murmur sweet 

To swell the harvest hymn. 

Upon the slowly rip'ning grass 

The sleepy cattle feed, 
While lazy zephyrs wander past 

To stir the tumble weed. 
Among the glinting stubble spears 

The skulking chickens run, 
Or — where no hunters rouse their fears — 

Lie basking in the sun. 

Content and plenty seem to brood 

O'er hamlet, field and farm ; 
Brown Autumn, with her stores of food. 

Imparts an added charm. 
And as our garners overflow 

Our hearts are turned above 
To Him who sends to all below 

Rich tokens of His love. 

Mortimer C. Brown 



lOI 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



FAST ASLEEP 

(A lullaby.) 

Backward and forward the rocker goes, 
Wafting the baby to sweet repose ; 
Close by the cradle the mother croons 
Lullaby, rock-a-by nursery tunes ; 
Dreamily singing she patiently tries 
Sleep to bring to the baby's eyes. 

Minute by minute the evening flits, 
Still in the chair she drowsily sits ; 
Soothing and rubbing the aching gums, 
Longing for slumber that never comes ; 
Rocking the baby that fretfully lies, 
Filling the room with its nervous cries. 

Weary with watching, the mother sings. 
Wooing the god with the leaden wings > 
Softer and softer the ditty grows, 
Now the little one's eyelids close; 
Sinking at last into dreamland deep — 
Mother and baby are fast asleep. 

Sam T. Clover 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



RAIN IN HARVEST 

At two the white-hot sun was overcast 
With shreds of pale gray mist ; 
And in the vast 

And reaching west deep banks arose, 
Cool blue and amethyst. 

With far faint blows, 

Tap, tap, and tap, the farm mechanic ham- 
mered. 

The somber crows 

Flapped gloomily from hill to hill. 

By still 

Unruffled ponds the scolding blackbird clam- 
ored. 

Still clanged the reapers o'er the ripened plain, 

Distant and near, 

Low and sullen, or loud and clear. 

Then came the rain. 
Gentle and soft upon the brittle grain 
Upon the long brown leaves. 
Upon the yellow shocks, 
Upon the fallen sheaves. 
Lulling and fresh and cool, 
Stilling the farmyard cocks. 
Darkening the wayside pool. 
103 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

The drivers hastened home vrith their teams; 

The reapers were left by the wheat. 

Oh ! welcome rain, how sweet, 

How restful and soothing it seems ! 

Oh! beautiful har\'est rain, 

After the da^^s of heat, 

After the toil and pain ! 

Will Dillman 



104 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE CHAPLET 

Yonder stands the mountain chaplet 
Looking quietly down the vale ; 

There below by mead and brooklet 
Sings the shepherd boy so hale. 

Mournful tolls the bell from yonder, 
Awful sounds the funeral lay, 

Hushed is now the merry singer 
By the chanting far away. 

They are borne to graves up yonder 
Who enjoyed themselves below. 

Shepherd boy, ah! list young shepherd, 
*Twill be sung for thee just so ! 

Translated from Uhland. 

G. G. Wenzlaff 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



OCTOBER 

A sky as soft as a dove's gray breast — 
From a willow branch swings an empty nest ; 
A sumac tree nods to and fro 
Its crimson berries that set aglow 
The autumn days ; while a lark's sweet song 
Is caught by the breeze and borne along 
Till it tangles itself with a blackbird's lay, 
As he leaves our world on his southern way. 

An ivy rich in its blood-red tint, 

A scarlet maple, where flirt and glint 

Stray sunbeams that hide in the dry brown sod, 

And spring into life in the golden rod. 

A startled quail in the tall, lush grass 

Goes whirring by ; and as we pass 

A cricket pipes his hearth-stone call. 

The spell of October lies over all ! 

May Phillips Tatro 



io6 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE RUSSIAN THISTLE 

Thou tangled, thorny, wiry mass of brier, 
Allured from off thy native Russian ground, 
O'er land and sea with many a westward 
bound, 
To lord it over every western shire ! 
What imp within thee, or what secret fire 
Impels thy tireless, ceaseless tumbling 'round 
Audaciously on every field and mound, 
As if to satiate some strange desire? 
Is there imprisoned in thy weird embrace 

Some evil spirit doomed to rove at night? 
Else why the owl at sight of thy mad race 
Springs up and shrieks aloud in startled 
fright? 
But while we look to see thy fiendish grace, 
We're more at ease when thou art out of 
sight. 

B. W. Burleigh 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



IN OCTOBER 

The woodland is ablaze 

With the glory of dying leaves, 
And over the sun-browned ways 

Come homeward the ripened sheaves. 
The amber sunset gates 

By the ruddy orb are kissed, 
While the harvest moon, as a bride who waits, 

Beams soft thro' the rising mist. 

O saddened, yet sacred days, 

When the harvest of life is done ! 
How sweet, thro' the soft'ning haze. 

Smiles backward the sinking sun ! 
The glory of days well spent 

Shines forth on the dying leaves, 
As the chariot of God is sent 

To gamer life's ripened sheaves. 

Mortimer C. Brown 



io8 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



INDIAN SUMMER 

Oh ! the mellow, golden days, 

Running o'er with smoky haze, 

Filtered through with sunshine patches and 

where star-beams throw their rays ; 
Fragrance of a June long past 
Over all its spell has cast, 
And the cloud-ships sail the azure with their 

moon-tipped spars and mast. 

Oh ! the mellow, golden hours, 
Filled with fragrance of dead flowers. 
Drifting upward from the meadow wet with 

pattering autumn showers ; 
Interlaced with leaves and vine, 
Mingling spots of shade and shine, 
And the sumac fruitage gleaming red as spark- 
ling jets of wine. 

Oh ! the fluttering wings that go, 

Dipping upward, high and low. 

Southward, where the breath of winter swings 

the roses to and fro ; 
A late bird pipes forth a cheer, 
Mullen stalks stand brown and sear, 
Edging round this strange and dreamy, half 

pathetic time of year. 

Oh ! the mellow, golden days. 
Running o'er with smoky haze, 
Filtered through with sunshine patches, and 
where star-beams throw their rays ; 
109 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Catching echoes all achime 
From mid-summer's perfect rhyme, 
Ho ! for all the gladness floating through the 
Indian summer time. 

May Phillips Tatro 



no 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



HENRY 

Now an old man lookin* back, 

I remember best of all, 
When I's jest a little boy, 

How my mother ust to call 
For me, standin' in the door 

Of the old house, when I'd be 
Play in' round the garden patch, 

Er the corn-crib — "Hen-er-ee!" 

Then when I was bigger, too, 

I'd be snarin' gophers, say, 
Down along the dusty road. 

On a sunny summer day, 
Hun tin' hens' nests in the weeds, 

Er some other deviltry ; 
Sweet an* clear I'd hear that voice 

Callin' to me — "Hen-er-ee!" 

In them days I recollect 

Herdin' cattle far away 
From the old home, on a bright 

Sunny afternoon. I'd lay 
'Most asleep an' hear them sad 

Plovers cryin' over me — 
Dream I heerd that fur-off voice 

Callin' to me — "Hen-er-ee!" 

Oh, these feet have wandered fur 
Sence them airly days is past. 

Mother's silent many years 
Scncc I heerd her call the last. 
Ill 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Yet a-roamin* still I hear 

In the night a heavenly- 
Voice from sad an' fur-off stars 

Callin* to me — **Hen-er-ee!'* 

Will Dillman 



112 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



AUTUMN REVERY 

Cold are the winds that waft 

The faded leaves about ; 
Chill are the rays that laughed 

Once through the summer cloud. 

Far flies the pinioned fowl 

To other cheerier lands 
Touched not by Winter's scowl 

Nor by his chilling hands. 

Ah me ! Could I but rise 
And from chill moods retreat, 

Dwell would I, too 'neath skies 
Where only warm hearts beat. 

G. G. Wenzlaff 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE LIGHTS BEYOND 

O weary soul, oppressed, downcast, 

With naught in future, or in past, 
To give thee rest, or hope, or peace, 
"^^Hiy seek in vain for some release 
From sorrow's grievous care and pain 
By grasping earthly joys in vain? 
O look beyond, and look above 
All earthly help and mortal love, 
Where shine the lights on yonder shore 
Fadeless for evermore. 

What lights? The lights of Faith sublime 
E'er gleaming o'er the sands of time, 
E'er lighting with their glorious rays 
The gloom and darkness of our days. 
The helpful ways, the counsel wise 
Of souls now safe in Paradise, 
And Hope, and Truth, and Love divine, — 
These are the guiding stars that shine. 
These are the lights on yonder shore 
Fadeless for evermore. 

Fannie E. Knapp 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

THE PINE TREE 

Alone upon the hill the pine tree stands, 
With half bare roots fast clutching frozen sands ; 
Its mourning boughs, against the bitter snows, 
Sing minor strains to every wind that blows. 
And thro' the lone hours of the winter night 
It watches while the world is lost to sight. 
O fitting emblem of the silent dead. 
Beneath thy boughs we stand with bended head 1 

Within the cozy room the Christmas tree, 
'Mid scenes of happiness and merry glee, 
Stands radiant as a bride. And everywhere 
The tinsel tufts, 'mid glint and gleam and glare, 
Reflect the bounding heart's joy far and wide. 
Upon this joyous, happy Christmas tide. 
O tree, removed from snows and winds and 

strife, 
Most fitting emblem of eternal life ! 

But whence this change from winter's chilling 

nights 
To scenes of happiness 'mid myriad lights? 
The Christ was born and made the Christmas 

tree 
The symbol of the change for you and me, 
That comes when human hearts, weighed down 

with sin, 
Awake from death to glorious life within. 
O Christ, whose blood the human soul hath 

bought. 
We praise Thee for the change Thy name hath 

wrought ! 

B. W. Burleigh 

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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



WHEN THE SNOW IS ON THE f»RAIRIE 

When the snow is on the prairie 

An' the drift is in the cut, 
An' life gets a trifle dreary 

Joggin' in the same old rut, 
Nothing like a good old fiddle 

Takes the wrinkles out o* things. 
There's the chirp o* larks an' robins 

In the twitter ov *er strings. 

When the whizzin*, roar in' blizzard 

Is a shuttin' out the day, 
An' the balmy breath ov summer 

Seems a thousand years away. 
You can start the eaves a drippin* 

With the tinklin' ov 'er strings. 
You kin hear the water bubblin' 

From a dozen dancin' springs. 

Rub the bow across the rosin. 

Twist the peg an' sound your A, 
There'll be bobolinks a clinkin' 

When you once begin ter play ; 
Bees '11 waller in the clover. 

Blossoms whisper in the sun. 
All the world a runnin' over 

With the sunshine an' the fun. 

Git the gals an' boys together. 
"Pardners all for a quadrille," 
Cheeks aglow with frosty weather, 
Hearts that never felt a chill ; 
ii6 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Youth an' music never weary, 
Tho' they meet in hall or hut — 

When the snow is on the prairie 
An' the drift is in the cut. 

"Sashy by an' s'lute yer pardners. 
Sashy back an' how d'ye do!" 

Everybody's feelin' funny 
An' the fiddle feels it too. 

Out o' doors the storm may sputter, 
But within the skies are bright, 

Pansies peekin' out, an' butter- 
Cups a bobbin' in the light. 

O, the joy ov healthful pleasure ! 

O, the trip ov tireless feet! 
While the fiddle fills each measure 

With its music wild an' sweet; 
Glints of sun the shadows vary. 

Though from out the world we're shut. 
When the snow is on the prairie 

An' the drift is in the cut. 

Mortimer C. Brown 



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A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



WINTER FLOWERS 
A GIFT 

These wretched blows threw off restraint to 

show 
Their tenderness and fervor to the world. 
Now will they feel the winter of their course, 
Then grieving fade and quietly droop away 
Without complaint, without perceived sighs. 
And there in Lethe's dismal water-bed 
Oblivion may them hold for evermore. 
Complain? Why should the dust-born flowers 

complain. 
Who destined are to smile and then to die? 
Perchance they, too, have met a sunny smile 
Within the chilly coldness of this world, 
And drawn, indeed, from that, diviner hope 
Of life immortal and communion long 
With loving children of th* immortal dust. 
To die is naught, yea, pass to fiery hells 
A consolation to a frozen heart ; 
'Tis better thus than be fore'er a flower 
Unblown, though never dying in its husks. 

G. G.Wenzlaff 



ii8 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

TWO BOOKS 
THE OLD YEAR 

Write "Finis" at the end, and close the book! 

Into the silent past the year has gone, 

Its joys and griefs and busy cares are done, 
And so let struggling cease the while we look 

With inward gaze upon the year we've 
known, 

The hidden record of our lives, now grown 
A very part of us, from which we took 

Eternal impress for our good or ill ; 
Careless, perhaps, and heeding not the power 

Of passing thoughts and little acts of will 
To mold our lives. Alas ! we shrink and cower 

From the dark picture printed there, until 

Blithe Hope, upsp ringing new, bids us fulfill 
The better part, and blesses all the hour. 

THE NEW YEAR 

Out of the old the new has come to-day, 

Out of the clouds the brave sun brightly 

shines. 
The crudeness of the past, new love refines, 
And all our dark'ning shades have passed away. 
A fair new book with white unwritten lines, 
New grapes of life unpressed to bitter wines, 
The Lord of all gives us again. But stay ! 
When we would write, or taste the fruit so 
fair. 
Some heaviness still holds our willing hands, 
Some dullness palls the waiting palate; 
there, 

119 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Holding secure, around us are the bands 
The old year wrought, the heavy bands of 

care 
Bound by our untaught hearts, which we 
must bear, 
Till we have learned the lesson He commands. 
Flora M. Thornton Swift 



1 20 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



EVENING 

The glorious orb of day has sunk to rest. 
The oriole has sought her swinging nest. 
The eventide draws on. The meadow-lark 
Is hushed as all the softened world grows dark. 
The silvery moon ascends above the hill, 
While myriad stars the vault of heaven fill. 
I listen to the last song of a dove — 
I rest — I sleep — I dream — of thee, my love. 

B. W. Burleigh 



121 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 



THE FOUR BARDS 

The merry langh and shout had died away 

Within Walhalla thronged with heroes blest. 
Majestic sat the chieftain Wodan there, 
And looked with noble brow and gracious mien 
Upon the host assembled at his feet, 
Expectant of the things to come. 

Now Wo dan, ruler of the heavenly throng, 
Did ope his mouth to speak his lordly will. 
He spake, and like the murmur of the deep 
His words fell gently on attentive ears : 
"Bring forth, ye heroes, from this concourse 

great 
The bards who found their entrance to this hall 
With hope to quaff their mead and wear the 

wreath. 
Like heroes slain in bloody battle rage. 
If they can show that what they spoke or sang 
Helped heroes live and die more hero-like, 
Then may their lot be in Walhalla blest 
But if their work heroic deed ne'er caused, 
Then was their harp to voice attuned in vain, 
And must oblivion be their just reward.'* 

These words did Wodan utter to the throng, 

And in assent the heroes clashed their shields, 
That like a thunder-peal re-echoed through 
The spacious hall of blest Walhalla. 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

When silence now again was all restored, 
There came from out the hero-throng 
Four aged bards before the honored seat 
To tell the story of their words and song, 
And hear the final sentence then pronounced. 
Now beckoned was the first to state his case. 
With kindled eye and trembling voice he said: 
*'0 god, to this majestic hall I came, 
Not borne aloft on Walkyr swan-like wings, 
But when my life breathed out its mortal last, 
Then took my soul its flight upon the winds ; 
Xhose winds that oft had wafted far away 
To unknown parts, my songs and strains of 

harp. 
And here am I in WalhaVs splendor rare 
Accounting for the lays I sang on earth. 
And for the strains I culled from this my harp. 
I sang of youth and love and spring and day, 
And alway joyous was attuned the lay. 
The sparkling drink, the merry laugh and shout. 
The rippling brook, the sunny field and glade. 
The roaring wood, the warbling bird and maid — 
Oh ! only bright things did I sing on earth. 
To cheer the heart and make the world more 

bright. 
For Brightness is its name." 

Thus spake the bard. 
And round Walhalla went a murmur low, 
And thoughtful looked the wisest of the gods. 
"O aged bard," said he, with gentle voice, 
*'Well didst thou do to see on earth the bright, 
And cheer the hearts of mortals there below. 
123 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

But lo ! thou saw'st the sparkle on the wave 
And not the angry deep ; the wafting air 
And not the raging storm ; the beaming cup 
And not the fatal brawl ; the gilded youth 
And not the sham of life. Ah ! simple bard, 
Of such stem things how shallow was thy view ! 
Thy song was sweet, but like the thing besung 
Short-lived and evanescent as the dew 
Resplendent on the blade in bright Mom's sun. 
Ill service did the wind to bear thee here. 
When real and not appearance makes the worth. 
But as thy song so be thy stay with us : 
A moment while and then forever part. — 
But now speak thou, O bard, with downcast face, 
And tell thy tale in brief.'* 

The bard began : 
*'Alas ! my story's long as life was short. 
But, Wodan, list, the sham of life was long 
And trouble had no end, as well I saw. 
And as I saw, thus to my harp I sang. 
All brightness was to foolish man a snare 
To bring misfortune on his earthly fare. 
*Alas !' I sang, and in that strain of gloom 
I found the comfort of our earthly doom." 

These cheerless words the second bard did speak 
Before assembled throng and Wodan wise. 
Then Wodan answered in as cheerless voice: 
" 'Alas!' I, too, must say, O wiser bard, 
That life is brief and trouble long and hard. 
Thou wiser wast than he who first did speak, 
As thou didst see beyond the joys that fleet, 
And warn the unaware of grief and ruin. 
124 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

A serious view thou hadst of life so stem, 
Yet shallow was thy song, too sad thy strain. 
Enjoy then here, O bard, the proffered mead, 
Then part thou to that gloomy, sunless land 
Of Hel, the daughter pale of Loki grim. 
There will thy song accord.** 

"Thy song accord ! ' * 
The hall of Wodan seemed to echo forth. 
Another bard then spoke in his defense : 
**I, too, O Wodan stern, ask thee to list. 
I lived my life the best I knew and could. 
I welcomed sunlight, made the best of gloom, — 
In short, I took all things as they did come." 

At these high words the heroes were rejoiced, 
And Wodan smiled as he to him replied: 
*'A hero wast to take the ills with joys. 
And wise wast thou to see the whole of life. 
Rejoice then here with us the best thou canst, 
Let Chance then bear thee where she will or 

may. 
For thou a son of Chance hast been alway." 

Then Wodan silent nodded to the last. 
That he might, too, relate his earthly course. 
Then thus did speak the bard before the throng u 
*'My view of life was quite a simple one. 
And Mystery was its name, and Deed its goal. 
Full many a spring with budding tree and bush 
Has passed away since I, a beardless youth. 
First touched the harp to draw from it its song. 
Then strength and hope and fire were in my 
veins. 

125 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

The winds and leaves then whispered love 

to me; 
Each bird and beetle brought me then some 

word 
From worlds unknown to mortal e^-e and ear ; 
On every ledge that saw its shadow dark 
Reflected in the wave, a Lorley sang. 
The flowing rivers murmured low and soft 
And roared and dashed and piped and splashed 

aloft 
And sang a tale so endless, awful, deep— 
A mystic tale for youthful ear so sweet. 

"I sang of this, then came the call, To Arms! 
Then saw I woes and ills in myriad swarms 
That sprang from hating hearts all craving 

blood. 
Oh! direful war that stains, and rends in twain 
The tenderest bonds of earth, and crimson turns 
The stream that flows 'tween crimson-colored 

banks. 

"My harp was mute, but war at last did end. 
Did end? Alas! life's struggles never end 
Till life itself does cease to throb and glow. 
Has not each precious life its threatening foe? 
The roaring w^ind sweeps over plain and wold, 
And snaps the gnarled oak, uproots the pine, 
And scatters like mere chaff the huts of men. 
The waters smile, then scowling, whirling draw 
The fated bather to their oozy depths. 
The fowler pipes his sweetest call, and lo ! 
The sylvan songster struggles in the toil ; 
So creatures, small and great, upon the lani 
126 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

And in the waters cool and ether blue, 
All seek their living prey as man seeks his. 

"My harp was still and I sought solitude. 
Beneath the drooping willow boughs, that view 
The slothful, murky stream, I found retreat ; 
And there upon the tender grass I lay 
And brooded o'er the ills of life each day. 
And there my harp slept through the sunlight 

hours. 
Its silver chords touched by the little flowors. 
Their vari-colored heads peeped through the 

grass, 
And smiled about so warmly, and alas ! 
Then bowed their earth-born little faces down 
Not e'er again to raise them to the sky. 
The balmy summer winds did mourn and sigh, 
And gloomy flowed the darksome river by. 

"One day aroused was I from this my dream, 
To see there struggling in the darksome stream 
A human form near by an o'erturned craft. 
I sprang to aid, and yet, alas ! I could 
But draw upon the shore a lifeless youth. 
I wrapped him in my mantle gray, and bore 
Him to his mother's feet. What there I saw 
Of anguish of the soul, no words can tell. 
I see it still. 'Oh! had I saved the boy 
Or could I bring to life again,* I sighed 
Within. But glassy were his eyes, and cold 
His purple lips. 'Begone, my former self! 
Depart, thou brooding mind, and do thou help 
To make the world more bright!* I cried aloud. 
I snatched my harp determined now to sing 
127 



A BOOK OF DAKOTA RHYMES 

Of life as life appeared to me at last. 
I looked at life, and sparkling was its garb ; 
And into life, and gruesome was its heart ; 
And through all life — ah ! through I could not 

peer ; 
For, mortal eye cannot break through the veil 
That wisely shrouds the mystery of the gods. 
For, life is like the swallow on its flight ; 
It Cometh from a far-off unknown land, 
And parteth as it came, into the night. 
I sang: 'What need we mysteries of the gods 
When we still have the beaming light of life? 
What need we alway have the joyous day, 
So long as we have right and dauntless wills? 
Ah ! strike the common foe that would destroy 
The hearth and slay the herd, the wife and boy. 
Combat all ills with vig'rous heart and hands 
And waste no precious hours in idle sighs ; 
For, vig'rous deed is what this life demands. 
And this is what will make the world more 

bright. * 
With this strange song upon my lips thus wise, 
I wandered near and far *mong many folk 
Until at last my aged life's strength broke, 
And I was wafted to Walhalla." 

Thus spake the bard, and then the throng did 

shout: 
**This is the bard full surely of our heart! 
For him the wreath ! For him the laurel wreath ! 
And may he dwell here in Walhalla!" 

G. G. Wenzlaff 



128 



PRINTED BY R. R. DONNELLEY 
AND SONS COMPANY AT THE 
LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL. 



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